


Pas de Deux

by skywalkersatsea



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Ballet Dancer Mila Babicheva, Ballet Dancer Phichit Chulanot, Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Inspired by the Nutcracker, Katsuki Yuuri Is a Victor Nikiforov Fan, M/M, Minor Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino, Minor Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Not Beta Read, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, References to The Nutcracker, Skater Victor Nikiforov, Skater Yuri Plisetsky, Supportive Yuri Plisetsky, Yuri Plisetsky Is So Done, Yuri Plisetsky Swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersatsea/pseuds/skywalkersatsea
Summary: Viktor accidentally misses the first minute or so of the number, quickly flipping through his program and scanning down the list of names and pictures of the principal dancers & soloists.There: he’s able to make out a slightly grainy picture of the dancer in the darkness of the theatre, dressed in a cozy looking turtleneck, leggings, and glasses, looking warm and serene as he smiles at the camera.Katsuki Yuuri, age 24. Sugarplum Cavalier.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 79
Kudos: 342





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the same year as the show and everything's the same except Mila, Yuuri, and Phichit are dancers. And we're gonna pretend the Russian skaters train in Moscow & not St. Petersburg bc that's where the Bolshoi is located. Set after the Rostelecom Cup.
> 
> I know ballet!aus have been done before, but I really liked this idea and was inspired by the movie teaser. Plus the Pas de Deux has always been my favorite song in the Nutcracker. I'm an ex dancer, so it's been a while- let me know if I've made errors with terminology in the comments! Enjoy!

It’s late November, and the opening night of the Bolshoi Ballet’s annual production of _The Nutcracker_ is already underway. There’s a tangible air of excitement in the audience as Act II of the show nears the end, the final numbers everyone’s been waiting for about to start as the lights dim from the _Waltz of the Flowers_ , and two dancers enter the stage from the wings.

The soft harp signals the beginning of the _Pas de Deux_ between the Sugarplum Fairy and her Cavalier, and Mila Babicheva stands on a space of satin-covered shoe as small as a coin. She rotates under the warmth of the stage’s spotlight with the help of her partner, her head & neck arched back and one leg held up behind her in a perfectly straight arabesque. The pink tulle at her waist doesn’t rustle, as unmoving as her posture; champagne and rose-colored crystals on her bodice glitter and throw rays of light on the stage. 

In the audience, Viktor Nikiforov grips the arm of his seat and leans forward.

Yakov had scheduled for everyone to go to the performance to get some fresh perspective after the Rostelecom Cup, to compare the artistry and stamina of ballet to figure skating. Viktor was more than happy to go to support Mila, who was an old friend of his. He and Mila had supported each other in their respective careers for years- she’d gone to Rostelecom a few days prior to cheer him on.

But Mila’s not the one who’s captured his attention onstage. 

A beautiful, black-haired dancer who plays the role of the Cavalier steps forward gracefully after Mila comes out of her slow rotation, his arms flowing out in a smooth but controlled motion as he gestures towards her. He’s wearing a similar costume to complement Mila’s: a light pink top with flowing sleeves and crystals on the collar & chest, and matching tights that accent powerful muscles on his legs.

Viktor can’t hold back a gasp as the Cavalier joins her in the combination she’s doing, their movements perfectly in sync despite their individual fluidity.

“He’s gorgeous,” Viktor whispers to himself.

Yuri, seated next to him, gives him a glare. He may be bitter about being dragged to a ballet with music he’s listened to a million times, but he knows better than to be rude to the dancers and talk during a performance. 

“Oh my-”

“Shut up,” Yuri breathes, trying to subtly kick Viktor’s leg without Yakov noticing. “Don’t be rude to your friend and talk during her duet, you absolute moron-”

Behind them, Yakov grabs hold of both of their shirt collars in a death grip.

“Vitya. Yuri.” His tone is warning enough.

Viktor shuts up and watches the rest of the _Pas de Deux_ silently, a million thoughts swirling in his head as the Cavalier continues his dance alongside Mila. 

_Who is he? What’s his name? Oh, I wish I looked longer at the program before it started, I would’ve known. Does he know Mila well? They must be close, if they’re partners- does he like her? No, Mila doesn’t date men, she would’ve told him if he wanted to date her. How long has he been a dancer? Why has Mila never mentioned that she dances with a man with the most perfectly sculpted thighs and butt-_

“You didn’t stop muttering,” Yuri hisses during the applause at the end of the duet. Viktor almost doesn’t hear him with how enthusiastically he’s clapping himself. “Drove me insane, I couldn’t focus on anything.”

Viktor ignores him, watching as his raven-haired Cavalier dips into a bow and retreats before Mila takes center stage for her Sugarplum Fairy solo. 

He accidentally misses the first minute or so of the number, quickly flipping through his program and scanning down the list of names & pictures of the principal dancers & soloists.

There: he’s able to make out a slightly grainy picture of the dancer in the darkness of the theatre, dressed in a cozy looking turtleneck, leggings, and glasses, looking warm and serene as he smiles at the camera.

_Katsuki Yuuri, age 24. Sugarplum Cavalier._

* * *

After the performance and final bows, Viktor tells Yakov he’ll meet him tomorrow for training and waves everyone else off, wanting to meet with Mila by himself in the lobby in the hopes she can tell him more about Yuuri. 

He finally spots her in the sea of people milling around, her costume, makeup, and hair still pristine but she’s swapped her pointe shoes for a pair of fuzzy gray slipper-booties. 

“Vitya!” She cheers, going in for a hug. “I’m starving. Tell me you snuck food in your coat and got it past security,” she whispers in his ear.

Viktor laughs, stepping back so he won’t crush her tutu. “It was all wonderful. The talent never fails to amaze me.”

Mila grins, patting her rock-hard bun. “Stop. I didn’t work nearly as hard this season as my partner Yuuri, though. Poor guy almost collapsed before Act II from nerves.” 

Viktor tilts his head, faking casual interest. “Yuuri was the Cavalier you danced with, right? You’ve never posted anything with him on Instagram.”

“Yeah, he’s a bit social media shy,” Mila says earnestly. “He’s as sweet as can be, though, really dedicated… Can’t believe he gave up everything to study at the Bolshoi, though. He’s from Japan, you know, he’s really close to his family…”

Viktor hears faint snatches of English among the Russian conversations happening around him, and he turns to see Yuuri, chatting happily with a dark-haired, tanned teenager by the house doors. He’s also still in costume, and holding a few roses in his arms.

_Shit, he should’ve bought flowers to give him, why didn’t he bring flowers?_

“... ugh, Yuuri, how is your endurance still so good, you’ve got the ankle strength of a god,” the teen moans. “Honestly, they should put you on pointe in the next show.”

Yuuri laughs, strands of hair falling in his face, and _oh_ , isn’t that a sound? Viktor swears his heart skipped a beat.

“They’re a bit more traditional here than in Detroit, Phichit,” Yuuri says. His voice is soothing, mellow. Viktor never wants him to stop talking. “Not as bold or interpretive.”

Mila notices where Viktor’s attention has gone and smirks at him. “Want to meet him? Get his autograph?”

Viktor shrugs, trying not to give his excitement away as Mila saunters over to Yuuri and his friend. He watches as Yuuri’s bright smile changes into neutral politeness as Mila greets them, and then to utter surprise as she talks & gestures to Viktor. 

Yuuri hands his roses to his friend and Mila pulls him through the crowd to where Viktor’s waiting. He’s clearly nervous, fidgeting with his hands, and when he reaches Viktor and blinks up through dark lashes, Viktor swears he sees recognition in those wide doe eyes. Which is ridiculous, of course- they’ve never met, and Viktor’s sure he’d remember a face like Yuuri’s.

“Viktor, this is Katsuki Yuuri,” Mila says, and Yuuri gives a small, polite bow to Viktor. Oh, how _charming._ “He’s our newest leading soloist. And Yuuri, this is Viktor Nikiforov. He’s one of my best friends- well, my oldest friend.” Mila reaches up and ruffles Viktor’s silver hair. 

Viktor shoves Mila’s hand away and smooths down his hair, smiling. He’s hoping to not appear too intimidating to the clearly anxious dancer in front of him. “You dance wonderfully. I enjoyed your duets a lot.” _Too much._

Yuuri flushes and stammers out a thank you in shaky Russian. At this point, Viktor wants to melt on the carpeted floor.

Mila nudges Viktor. “Didn’t you want our autographs, Vitya? It might be worth a lot, you know, a soloist and a principal dancer from the Bolshoi.”

Viktor snorts. “I’d say Yuuri’s name would be worth more than yours even with the rank difference,” he says with a wink towards Yuuri, who turns a deeper red.

Mila pouts. “You wound me, Viktor. But really, I have a pen- would you mind, Yuuri?”

Yuuri mumbles something under his breath, playing with the crystals at his collar.

“Is that alright?” Viktor asks pleasantly.

“I’d rather have your autograph,” Yuuri blurts out.

Viktor is taken aback. “Mine?”

Mila gasps. “Oh, right, I forgot you follow figure skating! He’s a big fan, aren’t you Yuuri?” Yuuri nods, staring hard at his feet.

Viktor could scream with happiness over the fact that Yuuri knows who he is, but instead he takes Mila’s pen and signs his name on the front of his program.

“I’m no Yuzuru Hanyu, but I hope this will be just as satisfying,” Viktor says as he writes.

Yuuri gives him a tiny smile. “I’m more fond of the Russian team anyway,” he replies, and Viktor’s heart _soars._

He hands Yuuri the program, his fingers brushing softly against the dancer’s, and they look at each other for a moment, dark brown eyes meeting light blue.

“Good luck at the Grand Prix final next month,” Yuuri finally says, waving goodbye to Mila before leaving the two of them to rejoin his friend.

Mila waves back, and as Viktor watches Yuuri and his gorgeous ass walk away in those shimmery pink tights, she ruffles his hair again. 

“Oh, you’ve got it baaaad,” she sings. “Honestly, I forgot he knew who you were, he’d always watch interview clips and old programs in our downtime after rehearsal.”

Viktor’s about to retort when he hears a loud “OH MY GOD PHICHIT” in English over the hum of people, and grins.

He knew writing his number underneath Yuuri’s picture in the program was a good idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor has a crush. He's not being subtle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's already given me support and love on this work! This chapter is more of the foundation for the beginning of Viktor and Yuuri's relationship (and crushes) with each other. We'll see Phichit at the end, and our favorite angry teenager will come back in the next chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

The next day at training, Viktor bounds up to Yakov on the side of the rink as he’s draining his morning coffee.

“I want to change my free skate music for the Grand Prix final,” he announces cheerfully.

Yakov’s eye twitches, and his fingers tighten on his coffee cup, as if he’s fighting the urge to crush it or throw it at Viktor’s head.

“You have ten seconds to tell me this is a joke,” Yakov snarls. 

“Costume too,” Viktor says, brows furrowing together as he thinks. “What do you think about a pastel pink-”

“And I suppose you want to change your choreography as well?!” Yakov roars.

“Ah, Yakov, I’d never torment you like that-”

“Every day is a torment with you, Vitya.” Yakov says in a flat voice. “Costume change, we might be able to manage, but the music too?! In four weeks?! You’re out of your mind, are you seriously going to risk not getting on the podium at the final and making it to Worlds?”

Viktor sighs, going to the bench and lacing up his skates. “I’ll podium, Yakov, I promise you. Just- let me try it out today and see how it goes.”

“One day only,” Yakov warns him, shaking his empty coffee cup at him. “And if I don’t like it, it’s not gonna fly. You’re going to make a sketch during your lunch break of what you want to change for your costume, and if we can make it work, fine. It’s not like your presentation scores will suffer from that too much, anyway.”

Viktor grins. Yakov’s gotten soft over the years with all of Viktor’s requests and antics, and he knows it. “Thank you Yakov! You’ll get a Christmas bonus from me, don’t worry.”

Yakov sighs, already regretting it. “So what exactly are we changing the music to today?”

“Tchaikovsky’s _Pas de Deux_.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Viktor’s taking slow circles around the ice, earbuds in and going through the motions of his free skate in his head as he warms up. Yakov’s working with Yuri first, his free skate music currently blasting over the speakers in the rink. He’s also using classical music, and it'll be interesting now that Viktor’s potentially changing his free skate piece, the two of them entering a battle of grace and elegance to see which one of them will win over the other.

He grabs some water and checks his phone quickly while he shrugs off his Team Russia warmup jacket, and almost loses his balance on the ice when he sees the new notifications waiting for him.

**Unknown Number:** hi… this is Katsuki Yuuri from the Bolshoi last night. is this Viktor? 

**Unknown Number:** if this is Viktor, thank u for coming to see the show last night! Mila’s lucky to have such a supportive friend

**Unknown Number:** i hope English is okay… I’m still learning Russian and I can’t text in Cryllic very well

He quickly saves the number and replies.

**Viktor:** you’re welcome, my dear Yuuri. English is fine :)

**Viktor** : I heard you were quite excited to get my number

**Yuuri:** ... u heard me yell in the lobby last night, didn’t u

**Viktor:** it was cute :) i’m glad I have such an adoring fan in the Bolshoi of all places

**Yuuri:** ur an incredible skater!!! of course i’d be a fan ^_^

**Viktor:** same to you

**Viktor:** your dancing is beautiful, I couldn’t help being starstruck last night

**Yuuri:** omg. u did not just say u were starstruck by me 

**Yuuri:** i’m not nearly as talented as u. just a dime-a-dozen dancer trying to become a principal in Russia

**Viktor:** i think you underestimate your potential 

Viktor’s about to settle in and keep texting Yuuri all day, until Yakov yells across the ice for Victor to get started.

**Viktor:** starting practice soon, but will you text later?

**Yuuri:** sure ^o^

Viktor puts down his phone and skates to where Yakov’s waiting, grinning ear-to-ear. 

* * *

“Well?” Viktor pants, bracing his hands on his knees as Yakov appraises him after practice. He’s run through the new _Pas de Deux_ routine at least three times, sweat running down his temples. Viktor can’t remember the last time he’s pushed himself this hard, desperate to make something work with his whole heart.

“You’re never doing this to me again,” Yakov says with a disapproving frown, “but it’s good enough. You’re working extra hours to make sure it’s clean, though, and we need to finalize the specific music cuts to fit your elements. And you’re not changing your costume trousers, but the shirt we can do.”

Viktor’s so thrilled he tries to hug Yakov, who almost topples over on the ice. 

He leaves practice lighter than he’s felt in years. On his walk home, he texts Yuuri to tell him that he’s working on something big for the Grand Prix final. He doesn’t specify anything, though- he wants the new free skate to be a complete surprise. And, if he’s being honest, it is a huge risk using someone he just met as inspiration for such an important competition. But he's confident in his decision, even if no one else is. 

Yuuri, to his delight, texts back almost immediately about how he’s looking forward to it, along with details of his day: how Mila got a new tiara for her Sugarplum Fairy costume and she accidentally got it stuck in her hair, and how he laughed so hard he almost cramped in his stomach too much to finish rehearsal. Viktor’s lips turn upward as he responds, cheekily suggesting he get a matching crown for himself.

Poor, sweet Yuuri sends a flurry of emoticons back, saying he couldn’t possibly do that- Mila’s supposed to be the focal point, after all. Viktor secretly disagrees, though he’d never admit it to her face.

They get into a routine soon after that, texting each other at night about their rehearsals, the aggravating diets they’ve been forced to be on for their careers, their lives in Moscow. With each response, with each rush of adrenaline and joy that floods through him whenever he sees Yuuri’s name pop up on his screen, Viktor learns more & more about the gorgeous dancer who’s stolen his heart. He learns that Yuuri knows roughly three languages from all his international dance training: Japanese, English, and Russian, plus a bit of French for the ballet terminology. He learns that Yuuri has a dog he adores back home in Japan; that his best friend’s name was Phichit, a dancer from Thailand who met Yuuri years ago at a company in Detroit; that he gets homesick often and Mila’s always there to comfort him. Viktor often wishes he was the one holding and comforting Yuuri on those days. His biggest regret, though, is that they still haven’t seen each other since opening night, their schedules being too busy as December begins and the Grand Prix final looms closer.

Tonight’s conversation starts out on the usual topic of rehearsals, as Viktor collapses into bed with Makkachin and a bottle of water after a long day of polishing his jumps. 

**Viktor:** how are you tonight, my dear Yuuri?

**Yuuri:** ah.. a bit tired. worked a lot on cleaning my footwork for the _Tarantella_ number so I might sleep soon

_Tarantella_ was the short, energetic little number after _Sugarplum Fairy_ , Viktor remembered, where Yuuri’s choreography mostly consisted of many series of jumps and quick, sharp footwork. Even though it was barely two minutes long, it looked exhausting, though Viktor knew endurance was something Yuuri was particularly good at. 

**Yuuri:** Mila helped me make an Instagram, btw. if u want to follow me?

**Viktor:** of course!

His phone buzzes from a new notification, and he clicks on the Instagram banner across the screen.

**katsuki_yuuri has requested to follow you**

Viktor accepts & follows back, and gets a good look at Yuuri's profile. His profile picture is an adorable fluffy brown dog that looks almost identical to Makkachin, and there's only one post on his feed so far: a casual black & white snapshot of Yuuri doing a tendu by the barre. His face is relaxed, the same serenity Viktor's noticed he has when he dances.

_Cute_ , he thinks.

He taps the heart to like the picture and goes back to his texts.

**Viktor:** someday you need to post a picture in your Nutcracker costume

**Yuuri:** hmm... maybe with Mila in hers. don’t really like how I look in the sleeves :/

**Viktor:** shame

**Viktor:** you look so handsome in it ;)

**Yuuri:**... ur lying

**Viktor:** I'd never lie 

**Viktor:** then again, you’d look handsome in everything <3

**Yuuri** : ....

**Yuuri:** goodness. um

**Yuuri:** sorry, u threw me off lol 

**Viktor:** don't stress, dear Yuuri. I know you're tired, so I'll let you go to sleep

**Viktor:** sweet dreams <3

**Yuuri:** goodnight, Viktor

* * *

In an apartment on the other side of the city, Yuuri frantically facetimes Phichit for advice. He’s sure he’s going to wear holes into the carpet, with the amount of hyperactive pacing he’s been doing since Viktor sent the last two texts.

"Let me get this straight," Phichit yawns. It’s still early morning in Detroit, and Yuuri’s thankful he answered at all. "Or not straight, I guess, based on everything you've told me. This man, the skater you've been idolizing for _years_ , now follows you on Instagram and said that you're handsome?!"

" _And_ he gave me his number on opening night," Yuuri reminds him, running a hand through his hair and groaning. "Phichit, what if I'm misinterpreting everything, he's famous and shouldn't even bother with someone like me-"

"You're getting famous too," Phichit tells him. "And he wouldn't flirt if he didn't like you, Yuuri, you've gotta be more confident in yourself! He probably saw that sexy, sexy ass on stage and was sold."

Yuuri rolls his eyes. "I highly doubt he's bothering to text me just because of my ass."

"Whatever. Point is, he clearly likes you. Don't overthink this, Yuuri. Keep talking to him, and you'll see what I see! Now hang up and go to sleep. Think about Viktor saying “sweet dreams” to you in that hot Russian voice of his."

Phichit ends the call and Yuuri immediately goes back to his texts, re-reading the last few lines over and over as he crawls into bed, pulls the covers over himself and turns off his lamp.

_Don't stress, dear Yuuri._

_Sweet dreams._

Phichit was joking, but Yuuri could actually envision Viktor in his head, sitting on the bed next to him and leaning over to whisper the words in his ear, blue eyes glittering.

_"_ Oh my god," Yuuri mumbles, rolling over and clutching his phone to his chest.

He eventually falls asleep after a while, a small smile still on his face from Viktor's last text. He's so worn out, he doesn't wake up when his phone buzzes again.

**You have one (1) Instagram message from yura_puma_tiger**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A private lesson turns Viktor's crush on Yuuri into something a bit more (he won't call it an obsession). Yuri definitely thinks it's an obsession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos!! It's really been amazing to see this much feedback, and I hope y'all like this chapter! I'm almost done with grad school applications so I'll have time to write and post more- the goal is to finish by Christmas, since it's a Christmas-y fic anyway.
> 
> In this AU Lilia Baranovskaya isn't here as Yuri's ballet instructor or assistant coach- I figured it might be more fun to have someone else in that role ;)  
> As always, ballet terminology is at the chapter note at the end!

Two weeks before the final, Viktor walks into the rink around 7 in the morning and is completely thrown off by what he sees.

Katsuki Yuuri and Yuri Plisetsky are in the middle of what looks like a private lesson off the ice. Yuuri leans against the wall, wearing the same thick turtleneck that was in his program picture, and black joggers. Blue leg warmers are bunched around his ankles, and his eyes are unexpectedly serious through his glasses as he analyzes Yuri, who’s currently extending his right leg to the side and holding it up with his arm. Viktor stays hidden just out of sight in the doorway to watch; he's excited to get a chance to see how Yuuri teaches.

"Good, relax your shoulders a bit," Yuuri says, and Yuri, to Viktor's amazement, scowls a little but does as he says without complaint. 

Yakov would have a stroke if he ever saw this.

"Great. Don't put too much unnecessary tension in your body when you hold these types of movements on the ice, it'll wear you out faster."

"You don't even skate," Yuri mutters, but keeps holding his leg still until Yuuri nods, and Yuri lets it fall.

"Okay, now the other one. You don't want to get too reliant on your dominant side, you need to even it out."

Yuri bends into a plié, and then a shaky développé to extend his left leg in the same upwards extension. He’s so flexible his foot is almost right next to his head.

"Turn out here..." Yuuri comes forward and takes Yuri's ankle in his hands, gently turning it into the correct position.

What Viktor would give for Yuuri's hands on his legs.

"Your flexibility is really great," Yuuri encourages him. "Do you take supplemental ballet lessons?"

"Used to," Yuri says, a slight strain in his voice as he keeps holding his leg up.

"I think you should go back to them. It might help your performance score even more."

"Hah," Yuri lets his leg fall and crosses his arms. "Don't pretend to know so much about skating just because you're obsessed with-"

"Yuuri!" Viktor steps out of his hiding spot and waves to the two of them. "I didn't know you'd be over here this morning!"

Yuuri blushes as Viktor approaches them, twisting his hands together. "Yuri wanted some help with movements for his free skate, so he DM’ed me a few nights ago. I have some time before my morning rehearsals, anyway."

Viktor hums. He's secretly a little hurt that Yuuri has yet to DM him on Instagram since they friended each other. "Yuuri and Yuri. That might be a bit complicated for me to keep up with- why don't we call you Yurio?" He says to the Russian boy.

"Die," says Yuri with venom. 

"Don't mind him," Viktor fake whispers to Yuuri. "He's full of rage and spite like a cat, but he's secretly a softie. Telling me to die is a term of endearment."

Yuuri laughs, then hastily turns it into a cough when Yuri glares at him.

"Can I see the progress you two have made?" Viktor claps his hands. "I want to see if dear Yurio can finally come closer to my level."

"Eat shit, old man," Yuri snarls, marching over to the bench and tying on his skates with such force Viktor fears the laces might snap.

Yuuri comes to Viktor's side as he watches Yuri get on the ice and take a few laps. "Sorry I didn't text you this morning about coming here. I think Yurio- um, Yuri- wanted a private with me."

Viktor smiles. "No trouble at all. I'm just glad I get to see you again before the final."

Yuuri smiles back, and Viktor’s heart _aches,_ wanting nothing more than to take him by the hand and pull him close in an embrace, to surround himself with the dancer in front of him-

"OY!" Yuri yells across the ice. "Will one of you idiots turn on my music already?!"

Yuuri jumps, and Viktor chuckles under his breath as he walks over to the sound system to start up Yuri's music.

The fast-paced piano notes from _Allegro Appassionato_ echoes over their heads and Yuri's irritation fades away, his face turning calm and focused as he floats across the ice. Viktor's impressed- there's more power behind the skate, but it doesn’t come off as aggressive. 

Yuri’s jumps are as smooth and solid as ever, but Viktor can see the bits and pieces where Yuuri's helped with movement and transitions between elements; already he’s present in the routine. Yakov would be prouder than anything once he saw the improvement.

"Wow," Yuuri exhales, watching Yuri in a trance as he launches into a clean triple axel and lands it, holding his arabesque for a good two seconds before moving into the next element. "I don't think he needed my help after all."

"It's because of your help that it's this good," Viktor compliments him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Yuuri stiffens at the initial touch but soon relaxes into it as the two continue to watch. Viktor considers that as a new victory.

"Amazing!" Viktor shouts as Yuri settles into his final pose. Yuri’s calm expression breaks and he gives both of them the finger as he skates back to the ledge.

"You two are disgusting," Yuri grimaces, eyeing Viktor's arm around Yuuri's shoulders. "I'm gonna go barf."

He grabs his skate guards, slides them over the blades, and storms into the changing rooms, leaving Viktor and Yuuri alone.

"I guess your private lesson is over," says Viktor, to fill the silence.

"I guess so. Does this mean I can see one of your skates, now that it's just us?" Yuuri asks shyly. 

"Of course," Viktor replies, letting his arm fall and immediately missing the heat radiating from Yuuri’s body, the thrill of being so close to him he could smell the crisp, clean scent of his hair.

"Why don't you join me?" He asks as he pulls his skates and gloves out from his duffel, shedding his hoodie down to a tight black shirt.

"I, ah... I can't skate." Yuuri's apologetic, shifting back and forth on his feet.

"Simple. I can pull you around if you just hold on to me-"

"I'm not allowed," Yuuri clarifies. "I can't do any activity that could endanger my feet or legs, since my position at the Bolshoi is so new... I can't risk it."

Viktor finishes tying the last knot and looks up, grinning.

"Don't trust me?"

"I-" Yuuri's turning red again, just as flustered as the night they met. "It's not that I don't want to."

"Don't think the seasoned Viktor Nikiforov can keep one delicate ballerina safe from harm?"

"I'm hardly delicate," Yuuri retorts.

Viktor shoves down every instinct to make an innuendo about Yuuri and his not-so-delicate body, and rises from the bench instead.

“I’ll skate a little while you decide, all right?” Viktor says, stepping onto the ice.

As Viktor stretches out his hamstrings, Yuuri goes to stand in front of him, bracing his arms against the ledge of the rink. “Can I ask why you want to change your free skate? Is it because it’ll be better for your scores? You won gold at the Rostelecom Cup already.”

Viktor hums, trying to think of the best way to phrase it without revealing too much. Yes, he had won gold at Rostelecom, but it was a hollow victory. He hadn’t beaten any of his personal scores in the process. And he hadn’t gotten as much competition, as much push from Yuri as he had expected, who wound up with bronze underneath JJ Leroy. Perhaps that was why Yuri had swallowed his pride and gone to Yuuri for the private lesson this morning- hell hath no fury like Yuri Plisetsky scorned.

“My goal with the changes wasn’t really to better my scores,” he says slowly, “but sort of to better myself and to do something I’d be proud of. Does that make sense?”

Yuuri nods, looking thoughtful. “I understand. It seems a bit reckless with so little time left until the competition, don’t you think?”

“That’s what Yakov said,” Viktor chuckles, starting a few slow laps around the outer edges of the rink to warm up. Yuuri’s eyes follow him like a magnet, already looking awestruck watching him move.

“It suits you, though,” Yuuri calls out over the whooshing of sharp blades against ice.

Viktor slides to a graceful halt in front of him, spraying ice crystals everywhere. “How so, dear Yuuri?”

“It’s bold,” Yuuri says, looking him directly in the eye, all traces of nervousness gone. “You’re always bolder than most skaters in your storytelling, your passion. That’s why I admire you so much.”

The warmth that settles in Viktor’s stomach is the best feeling in the world- he smiles down at his feet, completely giddy. He’s never reacted this way to compliments before, and he should know- he’s gotten hundreds over the years. Yuuri’s got him tied around his pinky finger and he has no idea. Viktor can almost hear Yuri hissing in his ear. _For fuck’s sake, get it together, Nikiforov._

He shakes it off and starts to move again, this time with a new burst of energy.

“Ready to see some real skating?” 

“Don’t let Yuri hear that,” Yuuri grins, propping his chin up in his hands as he watches.

 _He’s so_ cute.

“Yurio can be humbled just a bit more,” Viktor quips, before picking up speed and preparing for a double loop. 

He lands it perfectly, of course- his technical scores are one of the best in the world. Yuuri cheers from where he’s watching, and the warmth just _grows_. Viktor keeps moving, getting into a rhythm and beginning to go through the choreography for his free skate. He’s teasing him a little, showing him but not showing him exactly what he’s been working on, since there’s no music playing over the loudspeakers. 

Despite that, Viktor moves as if he’s performing in front of a judging panel instead of just Yuuri. Instead of getting into the emotional side that he’s been practicing, however, he’s light and flirty with his movements and body language. His smile is easygoing, masking the technical difficulty of the routine; he winks when his eyes meet Yuuri’s from the opposite side of the rink and launches into a quad flip. 

He’s showing off and being a bit cheeky but screw it. He got to see Yuuri in all his beauty and glory at the Bolshoi, why should he hold back on his own stage?

Yuuri’s jaw has dropped by the time Viktor comes out of his final spin and poses with his arms extended outwards, lifted high above his head.

They stare at each other from meters away, but even from this distance he can tell Yuuri’s been just as blown away by his skating as Viktor’s been by Yuuri’s dancing.

“Well?” Viktor calls from across the ice, dropping his arms. “Will you skate with me?”

Yuuri seems to be calculating in his head, weighing the risks. “I think I’ll give it a shot,” he says bravely, and Viktor’s absolutely delighted. He tells Yuuri where to grab a spare pair of skates from the back, and after verbally helping him lace them correctly, the black-haired ballet dancer stands in front of him at the entrance to the ice, looking a little nervous but determined.

“Take my hands,” Viktor instructs, and Yuuri entwines his fingers into Viktor’s. He wishes he wasn't wearing gloves, so he could feel them against his, but he’s taken a lot of falls in practice, and the ice can be unforgiving. Viktor imagines they’re soft and warm against the fabric.

“I’ll move backwards and pull you forward,” he continues. “Just hold on to me, alright? I’ll take good care of you.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, his brow furrowed as he looks down at his feet. “What should I do to make it easier on you? I don’t want you to do all the work.”

“Turnout your feet a bit,” Viktor says, nudging at Yuuri’s feet with his blade. “Then push out to the side with one foot & glide on the other. Alternate your feet.”

Yuuri does as he instructs, and slowly they begin to move, Viktor’s hands secure on Yuuri’s. 

“Wow,” Yuuri breathes, pure joy radiating off him in waves as they take a slow circle around the rink. “This feels like a dream.”

“You’re doing so well,” Viktor encourages him.

Immediately Yuuri stumbles and his hands latch onto Viktor’s biceps as he falls forward, Viktor’s own hands flying out to steady him on his lower back and hip. They don’t let go of each other, even when Yuuri straightens back up.

“S-Sorry,” Yuuri stammers, his chest heaving from the unexpected adrenaline of almost falling. He’s staring hard at the ice over Viktor’s shoulder, as if he’s afraid to look him directly in the eye.

“I’ve got you,” Viktor responds softly, his thumb gently moving up and down in reassurance against the wool of Yuuri’s sweater.

Yuuri swallows, and raises his head. He's a little bit shorter than he realized, Viktor notices, the dancer having to tilt his head up slightly to meet him eye-to-eye. He's also very close again; Viktor can see flecks of gold in his eyes, and a few freckles on his cheekbones, and the skin he's biting on his lip.

_Fuck, his lips._

The air’s become electric, supercharged with the anticipation of what could come next. Viktor doesn’t move away, and neither does Yuuri, those pretty brown eyes staring up into his very soul as he bends down towards him a fraction of an inch and Yuuri follows, mouth parting-

An alarm on Yuuri's phone goes off, and he jolts back, looking alarmed.

"I have to go, otherwise I'll be late for rehearsal- I'm sorry!"

Viktor helps him glide back to solid land, and before Yuuri rushes off to take his skates off & grab his sneakers he hugs him, arms wrapping tightly around his back and his head tucked into his shoulder.

It’s so quick and unexpected, Viktor’s too stunned to hug back.

"I'll text! Thank you for everything!" He calls before he disappears out the door into the cold Moscow air, leaving alone on the ice Viktor with that ever-present longing in his heart.

* * *

 **Mila:** what have u done to him vitya??

 **Viktor:** ?? 

**Mila:** yuuri’s been looking at his hands and hyperventilating for ten minutes since he got to rehearsal

 **Viktor:** um. I might have convinced him to skate with me this morning and he almost fell 

**Viktor:** I caught him tho!! He shouldn’t be hurt!!

 **Viktor:** unless something happened on his way to the theatre?? He’s okay, right?

 **Mila:** … 

**Mila:** is this why he keeps muttering “his biceps” under his breath

 **Viktor:** !!! he likes my biceps???

 **Viktor:** does he think i’m strong???

 **Viktor:** he’s definitely got more muscles than me since he does all those lifts with you

 **Viktor:** … can you convince him to post a picture of his arms from rehearsal today

 **Mila:** unbelievable

 **Mila:** u are a goddamn mess. how did i not see this coming when i introduced u two 

**Viktor:** don’t shame me

 **Viktor:** there’s no way I’m behaving worse than you when you found out Sara Crispino existed last year

 **Viktor:** I was the one who did all that research in between competitions and found out she was a lesbian for you

 **Mila:** … u may proceed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plié: a movement where the dancer bends both knees with feet turned out and then straightens them again. A lower/raise type movement.  
> Développé: a movement where the dancer lifts one leg with a bent knee, coming up past the hip and then the leg straightens, or develops, outwards.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's past the crush stage, and is completely in love. Everyone's got different opinions about it as the Grand Prix Final is about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who's stuck with this so far!! I think this was one of my favorite chapters to write so far, and I hope y'all will enjoy it too!  
> I'm considering changing the rating up to M soon- definitely by the sixth chapter, so be on the lookout. You've been warned ;)

The next few days that follow are the hardest for Viktor’s attention span, since he can’t stop checking his phone for updates from Yuuri. Last night, Yuuri posted the world’s cutest mirror selfie with Mila in their costumes, the light of the old worn bulbs in the dressing room mirror casting a warm golden glow over the picture. Yuuri’s smile was so precious Viktor couldn’t help hugging his phone to his chest, kicking his legs into the mattress and accidentally startling Makkachin out of his deep sleep next to him.

Since their near-kiss on the ice, Yuuri’s opened up more in his text convos and Viktor’s secretly relieved, worried that he might have scared him off by coming on too strong. But Yuuri seems perfectly content to talk to him about anything and everything, and Viktor’s more than happy to respond. They talk even more often than they did before: in between rehearsals, their sleep schedules, and Yuuri’s _Nutcracker_ performances. 

Yuri rolls his eyes every time he catches Viktor sneaking a glance at the screen during practice, muttering under his breath about how idiotic he is in between stretches.

Yakov seems to feel the same, if not a bit stronger.

“VITYA! STOP LOOKING AT YOUR PHONE OR I’LL HAVE YURI RUN IT OVER!”

“Please let me run it over,” Yuri begs, one leg lifted behind him in an upwards split. After their private lesson together, Yuuri had sent him a personalized list of ballet stretches and exercises for him to work on, which he’s dived into with gusto. “If I have to hear any more gushing about how cute or adorable that ballet dancer is, I’ll choke.”

“What ballet dancer?” Georgi joins the group, curious.

“That Japanese soloist from _The Nutcracker_ last week,” Yuri says, tying his blonde hair back into a ponytail and lifting his other leg. “The one who danced the Sugarplum Cavalier, who had the duet with his friend.”

Yakov looks ready to commit arson. “Viktor. Do you mean to tell me you’re changing your free skate music because of A BALLET DANCER?!”

Viktor grins sheepishly, setting down his phone on the rink ledge. “Guilty.”

“It’s romantic,” Georgi sighs. “I should have done that for Anya.”

“It’s gross,” Yuri mutters, flexing and pointing his outstretched foot.

Yakov takes a deep breath and rubs his temples, probably wondering how he ended up as coach to three of the most overdramatic athletes in Russia. “I’ve decided I don’t want to know. The less I know, the better.”

“That’s the spirit, Yakov,” Viktor says happily. “Don’t want to raise that blood pressure.” 

Yakov glares at him, wagging a finger in his face. “I’m warning you, Vitya. If your skating suffers even a little bit over the next month, I’m placing you under house arrest here at the rink and locking up your phone until next season. Understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Viktor waves him off, stepping onto the ice. Before he puts his earbuds in, he picks up his phone one more time and refreshes Instagram.

A new photo of Yuuri appears at the top of his feed, clad in a black face mask and sleek black warmup clothes. He’s sitting cross-legged by himself in the middle of the stage, throwing up a peace sign at whoever’s holding the camera for him.

_Rehearsal time_ , the caption says.

Viktor manages to comment with three smiley faces before Yakov wrestles the phone out of his hand and shoves it into his jacket.

* * *

Before he knows it, Viktor’s cleaned his free skate to near-perfection, and is in the middle of packing his suitcases for Barcelona the night before he leaves Moscow, Makkachin curled up on his pillow & his new _Pas de Deux_ costume glittering on top of his other clothes.

He’s kept the plain black pants that was in his previous costume, but the top is completely different. It’s pastel pink, the same color as Yuuri’s Cavalier costume. The shirt is slightly high-collared in the back, but plunging into a loosely structured V-shape in the front, with swirls of pink crystals and silver sequins completely encrusting the whole thing. The sleeves aren’t flowy like Yuuri’s but fitted and long, the ends reaching up past his wrists and to his knuckles. It’s easily one of his favorite costumes he’s ever gotten, including last year’s _Stammi Vicino_.

Viktor pats the shimmery fabric before zipping his first suitcase shut and grabbing the other. He feels his cell buzz in his pocket, and takes it out quickly to check before starting on the second suitcase.

**mila_babicheva has sent you a video**

He clicks on it, and he feels his breath leave his lungs as he collapses onto his bed, perfectly pressed pants and dress shirts now wrinkled underneath him. 

Yuuri’s in a practice room doing endless fouettés, not paying attention to the camera as he spins and spots the mirror in front of him. He’s wearing tight, high-waisted leggings that fit on him like a second skin, making the muscles on his calves, thighs, and ass look like they’re sculpted from marble. His shirt is a long-sleeved, v-neck black crop top that looks suspiciously like one of Mila’s, but Viktor’s not complaining- it covers his pecs & shoulders and not much else, revealing creamy skin and a slender waist.

_Holy shit_.

Viktor gasps out loud when he sees his feet; Yuuri isn’t wearing his normal ballet shoes that he performs in, but pale, pale pink pointe shoes that look almost white while doing his fouettés. Viktor doesn’t have to be a dancer to know that Yuuri’s form is perfect, the arches of his feet strong and unwavering as he moves up and down, his body elevated on the tips of his big toes as he turns.

The whole combination of Yuuri in pointe shoes and a crop top is something he never knew he needed, and he sends a few silent prayers of thanks to whatever inspired Mila to film this moment.

“Yes, Yuuri!” Mila cheers in Russian. “Give the people what they want!”

“Milaaa,” Yuuri fake whines, coming out of his turns and laughing at her. “Stop it!” He’s sweaty and flushed, a few strands of hair sticking to his forehead.

_He’s so hot_.

“Pose for your fans, Yuuri,” Mila teases, angling the phone so Yuuri’s tilted. He shakes his head and laughs again, reaching up to stretch his arms above his head, and the crop top rides up higher. A drop of sweat rolls down his abdomen, disappearing below his waistband.

Viktor fucking _whimpers_.

“Come on, please!” Mila begs again, and Yuuri throws her a tired V with his fingers.

“Now wave bye to Vitya!”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, visible even on film. “Wait WHAT? MILA-”

The video ends there, and Viktor instantly clicks the replay button. He watches the whole thing five times in a row before snapping out of it.

“Makkachin,” he moans, burying his face in his dog’s fur and hugging him. “He’s going to ruin my life and he doesn’t even know it!”

Makkachin doesn’t seem to mind Viktor’s internal crisis very much, wagging his tail happily. As Viktor hugs and pets him, he’s thinking hard and fast. He hadn’t seen Yuuri since the day he unexpectedly showed up at the rink, and he wasn’t planning on going anywhere the night before flew out to Spain in order to be well-rested, but tonight he makes a fast impulse decision- he’s going to _The Nutcracker_ again.

He decides he won’t tell Yuuri or Mila that he’s coming- he just wants this quiet moment for himself, to be able to see Yuuri in his element one last time before his groundbreaking free skate.

Viktor shoves the rest of his clothes unceremoniously into his last suitcase, grabs his wool trench coat and scarf, and bounds out the door, hailing a taxi as soon as he’s able to spot one.

He makes it just before the ballet starts, by some miracle. He hands over 10,000 rubles at the box office and goes to take his seat as the lights dim, pocketing his program this time as a memento. 

It’s just as divine as he remembers. The golds and reds in the paneling and curtains in the theatre compliment the deep blues and majestic silver tree that makes up the backdrop for Act I; the pit orchestra from underneath the stage creates full, bright music that transports him into a completely different world. Viktor can’t help but be completely immersed into the magical land that Clara navigates throughout the ballet.

But even with all the grandeur that goes into a Bolshoi production, Act I goes by slowly tonight, and he’s feeling guilty- he normally enjoys the ballet a lot, and _Waltz of the Snowflakes_ was always one of his favorite pieces, but did it really have to be six minutes long? 

When the lights come on for intermission, he stands to stretch his legs and is almost immediately assaulted by a very irritated Yuri Plisetsky.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Yuri hisses, looking embarrassed to be seen with Viktor, who’s definitely turning a few heads. His face is well-known in Moscow, thanks to his pristine skating career.

“I could ask you the same,” Viktor says, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “I thought you hated _The Nutcracker_ because of how many times you’ve listened to it before.”

Yuri turns pink. “I- I’m trying to watch for some last minute details to help my program. Not to support anyone, or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Viktor can’t believe his ears. “Aww, Yurio, are you finally looking up to someone other than yourself?” He teases. “Is Yuuri your new role model-”

“I’m not taking _any_ shit about Katsuki from you of all people,” Yuri says angrily, jabbing a finger into Viktor’s chest. “You’re so lovey-dovey towards him, it makes me sick. Why the hell do you think I asked him for that private lesson? Half of it was for you two to figure out your dumb feelings and shit, but since you clearly don’t have a braincell to spare, _I’m_ stuck in this nonsense until you perform your little tribute of a free skate for him and he finally realizes you actually like him back.”

Viktor is stunned, to say the least. He stares at the blonde teenager blankly, trying to make sense of the words he just heard come out of his mouth. “He… he likes me? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Oh my GOD,” Yuri groans, slapping Viktor with his rolled up program. “I hate you both, I don’t know why I even bother.”

Viktor’s heart is pounding as the lights above them blink, signaling the audience to get back in their seats for the second act.

_He likes me, he likes me, he likes me-_

_He could even love me._

“Wait,” Viktor grabs Yuri’s arm as he turns to go back to his seat. “You really set that up? For me?”

“We never talked about this,” Yuri says, yanking his arm out of Viktor’s grasp. “And for the love of all that is holy, contain yourself when he gets onstage.”

He stalks away and Viktor sits back in his seat, his heart still racing as the lights dim and Act II begins. He’s in disbelief, that Yuuri has feelings for him too, that his free skate won’t be an empty shout into the void and that something might actually come out of it besides a potential medal… 

He spends most of Act II on cloud nine, and when Yuuri finally appears onstage for the _Pas de Deux_ , he can’t stop his lips from curving up into a big smile. It’s like seeing him dance for the first time again, the way Yuuri consistently takes away his breath.

Even though he rejected Viktor’s suggestion of a crown, Yuuri has added a few crystals in his hair to go with Mila’s new tiara, making him look even more beautiful and fairy-like than opening night. He’s bolder, too- he carries himself differently as he dances tonight, flitting across the stage with a lightness to rival Mila’s.

They move into their combination together, and it’s absolutely flawless. Pas de borrée, piqué turn, balancé… Viktor doesn’t know the names of all of the ballet movements just yet, but he kind of prefers it that way, to be entranced by the magic of it.

At the booming climax of the piece, Mila jumps into Yuuri’s arms, violins and horns triumphant as Yuuri holds her in an overhead lift, and tonight the audience bursts into applause at the sight. Viktor claps the hardest during the lift, beaming as Yuuri walks slowly across the stage without a single visible tremor in his arms as he holds her up. He’s close enough to the stage to see Yuuri break composure a little, allowing himself a soft smile as he lowers Mila to the ground before finishing the rest of the routine.

When the music ends and the audience claps once more, Viktor gives a few quick whistles that blend into the cheers echoing across the theatre as Yuuri and Mila take their bows. 

He’s so smitten he thinks his heart will burst.

* * *

**Mila:** don’t think ur getting away with anything, vitya

**Mila:** i saw u in the audience tonight. that silver hair is a homing beacon

**Viktor:** don’t tell him, please

**Mila:** that ur an obsessive, lovesick puppy who can’t go too long without seeing him in person??

**Viktor** : yes, i’m in love. sue me

**Viktor:** Yurio told me Yuuri has feelings for me too

**Mila:** duh. yuuri threatened to burn my favorite black leotard if i told u 

**Mila:** but u didn’t find out from me, so my leotard is safe

**Viktor:** mmm. who knew Yuuri had so much grit

**Mila:** so u don’t want ur man to know u secretly went to support him tonight?

**Viktor** : i’ll tell him soon, i promise. i need to get through the GPF first

**Mila:** why?

**Mila:** do NOT tell me ur big program surprise yuuri’s told me about has something to do with him

**Viktor** : :)

**Mila:** ur insane. i can’t wait to see how this goes

**Viktor** : you’ll watch it with him, right?

**Mila:** of course

**Mila:** i may give u endless shit but i still love u 

**Viktor:** i expect nothing less from my #2 fan

**Viktor:** #1 being our dear Yuuri, of course

**Mila:** u wound me :( 

**Viktor:** love you Mila

**Viktor:** but how do i know you won’t skip the men’s division and only watch the ladies for Sara

**Mila:** u don’t ;)

* * *

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of preparation and anticipation since Rostelecom, Viktor, Yuri, and Yakov arrive in Spain two days before the beginning of the Grand Prix Final.

Barcelona’s a whirlwind of activity from both the competition and the holiday season, and despite being surrounded by people and fellow skaters he’s eager to catch up with, Viktor feels oddly lonely. The city’s decked out in sparkling lights and decorations for Christmas, and he often finds himself wishing Yuuri was here to enjoy it with him, whether it’s walking down a cute cobblestoned lane lined with twinkle lights and pine garlands or indulging in rich, thick hot chocolate and fresh churros. The amount of photos he sends to him doesn’t do much to help; who knew he would feel like this about someone he never saw regularly in the first place?

It’s not like he has his normal company from Moscow, beyond Yakov- Yuri’s been strangely MIA since the second their plane touched down in Spain and has only shown his face for his designated ice time, either to hide from his rabid fanbase or to avoid Viktor altogether. He’d refused to say another word about Yuuri in the airport and on their flight, stone-faced the entire plane ride from Moscow no matter how much Viktor begged. 

And Georgi’s staying behind to take care of Makkachin back at Viktor’s apartment, and has been dutifully sending pictures of the dog on the hour just so Viktor’s satisfied. He thought it would do Georgi some good to get some non-human interaction, to get over his recent breakup with Anya. 

By the time Viktor's done with his assigned ice time for practice the night before the short program, it's too late in Moscow for him to text Yuuri about his day, since he’ll be in the middle of a _Nutcracker_ performance. So he accepts Chris Giacometti’s invitation to go out for dinner together, indulging in the best wine and food he's had in ages. But he's distracted, itching to pull out his phone and check for notifications every ten minutes. He doesn’t want to be rude, though; Chris is one of his oldest friends in the skating world.

In addition to being the first guy he’s slept with, but that was a long, long time ago. 

"You're preoccupied tonight," Chris murmurs over his glass of wine, always unusually observant when he wants to be. "Worried one of us will actually take gold from you this year?"

Viktor laughs, pushing a piece of shrimp in his paella around with his fork. "In your dreams."

"What, then?" Chris asks.

Viktor sighs, surrendering and taking out his phone. "There's this man..."

"Oh?" Chris' eyes twinkle with interest. "This is new. Is he another skater?"

"A ballet dancer," Viktor says, pulling up Yuuri's Instagram profile and handing the phone to Chris, who takes it eagerly.

"Wouldn’t have pegged you for the type," he says, scrolling through the photos. "I’ve never liked the ballet dancers I’ve met. They were very prima-donna."

Viktor snorts. "You've met JJ, right? Can't get more prima-donna than that."

"True." Chris passes Viktor's phone back to him, humming. "He's cute. Don't tell me that's the reason behind your new free skate."

Viktor stares. "How do you know about that?"

"Please. Yakov loves to complain to the other coaches about how you're going to send him to an early grave with all your wild ideas and program changes." Chris leans back in his seat, amused. "So that's your grand plan? Seducing this dancer through your skating?"

"Not... seducing him, per se," Viktor says, a little defensive. "I think he's waiting for something. A sign that I love him too."

"How do you know?"

"He's shy," Viktor says thoughtfully. "But sweet, kind, considerate- he won't make a move unless it's clear to him that there's something waiting for him. Yuuri can be a bit introverted, so I wasn't sure whether he felt the same."

"And he does?" Chris asks, raising a brow.

"I think so. Well, Yuri told me, at least. Insulting me with every other breath as he did."

Chris grins, raising his glass to Viktor's. "To requited love, then."

They order more wine and chat a bit longer about Chris and his current boyfriend back in Switzerland, and their bets on who’s going to hookup with who over the weekend. Viktor doesn’t have any current drama from the men’s division, besides his own, so they turn to the ladies. Chris thinks Sara Crispino is sneaking around with a fellow skater without her brother’s knowledge, and Viktor agrees- the poor girl is constantly smothered by him. He makes a mental note to try and meet up with the Crispinos at some point this weekend, since Mila will be dying for a picture. He’s feeling a lot better as the night goes on- he’s forgotten how much fun skating gossip is. That, and getting wine-drunk with Chris is always an interesting time. 

An hour later, Viktor’s phone buzzes on the table, and Chris gestures for him to go ahead and look. His excitement grows when he sees it’s an Instagram DM from Yuuri.

**katsuki_yuuri has sent you a photo**

Viktor whines out loud after he opens it, collapsing onto the table. 

It’s a black and white photo of Yuuri in costume, preparing to go onstage in the darkness of the wings as he watches other dancers already performing. The light from the stage is bright and casts his body in shadow, so Viktor can’t see his face clearly, but what he can see is his beautiful side profile; of his sharp chin, the elegant curve of his back in his fitted top, and...

Chris leans over to look and whistles. “Shit, Viktor. And I thought you had a pretty ass.”

“Stop mocking my pain,” Viktor groans. “I swear, he _knows_ what he’s doing to me.”

Chris snickers as Viktor rolls his head onto his arm. “If this supposedly shy dancer’s got the balls to flirt with you, Vitya, then I approve.”

“Mmmhhhggg,” Viktor moans into the sleeve of his coat. First there was Mila’s video, and now this?? He’s going to go into cardiac arrest if Yuuri keeps _teasing_ like this. 

Chris pokes him with his fork. “Aren’t you going to respond? Don’t leave him hanging, poor guy obviously wants a little “good luck” or something from you.”

He takes the opportunity to snap a few pictures of Viktor’s lovestruck face as he responds to Yuuri’s message, still chucking under his breath.

**v_ nikiforov:** davai!! :)

**katsuki_yuuri:** ^_^

**v_nikiforov:** text later?

**katsuki_yuuri:** don’t u need to rest for tomorrow?

**v_nikoforov:** for you, my dear Yuuri, I’ll stay up til dawn

**katsuki_yuuri:** !! viktor!!

**katsuki_yuuri:** cue’s coming up. talk tomorrow!

"Oh?" Chris suddenly says into his phone. "This is an interesting development."

He shows Viktor his screen, and it's a new post from Yuri. He's in an older district in the city Viktor doesn’t recognize, giving his classic smirk and peace sign at the camera. Next to him in the background, a motorcycle leans against the wall of buildings, and standing next to the motorcycle is Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan, a small smile on his face as he looks at something in the distance.

_Interesting, indeed._

“No bets on Yurio,” Viktor says, closing out of his DMs and going back to his main feed to comment on Yuri's post. “He’s too young to sleep around, anyway.”

“Not too young for a crush, I bet,” Chris winks.

“Probably not,” Viktor replies, typing. 

**v_nikiforov:** :)))))))

**yura_puma_tiger:** I’m kicking your ass on the ice tomorrow, old man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mila took the picture for Yuuri backstage ;)  
> I wanted Viktor’s new costume to look similar to Yuzuru Hanyu’s second Origin costume, if anyone wanted a visual: https://youtu.be/GJ799TyGYxM
> 
> Fouteé: A spin where the dancer stands on one leg and makes a whiplike motion outwards with the other leg to make themselves turn. It's very technically difficult to do  
> Pas de borrée: A 3-step movement where the dancer transfers their weight between their feet  
> Piqué turn: A traveling turn step where the dancer steps out and turns with one leg, and the other leg is bent with the foot touching the other leg's knee  
> Balancé: A back-and forth, swaying type step where the dancer's weight shifts between bent legs


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grand Prix Final is underway. Viktor learns something new before he performs his free program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who's following this fic!! Writing this chapter was a little tougher than I thought it would be, apologies for the wait! I will be switching this fic's rating to M, though there's really nothing til next chapter ;) enjoy!!

Yuuri calls him on Saturday night after the short program is over in lieu of texting him. 

Viktor’s managed to nab first place after today, with Yuri close behind and Chris in third. JJ Leroy crashed and burned this afternoon and is in sixth behind Michele Crispino- it was almost hard to watch, but he’d managed to finish with a bit of dignity left. Otabek Altin is fourth at the moment, but Viktor won’t be surprised if he medals tomorrow- he’s a dark horse of sorts, his talent always overlooked by others but consistently there despite everything.

It’s so much harder now, not to tell Yuuri that he has feelings for him, and he knows that Yuuri has some sort of feelings for him as well. But Viktor doesn’t want it to be the type of thing he confesses over the phone, and he’d rather prove it to him on the ice tomorrow. 

Maybe Mila’s right about him- maybe he _is_ insane.

"So about _On Love: Agape_ ," Yuuri is saying to him now, referring to Yuri's short program with curiosity in his voice. "What does agape mean?"

"Unconditional, pure love," Viktor replies. He climbs into his hotel bed and gets comfortable, settling in for hopefully what will be a long phone conversation. He’s missed Yuuri’s voice. "Yurio's supposed to take on this innocent and childlike persona when he performs it." 

Yuuri hums. "I got that, but it doesn't sound like Yuri that much."

"You'd be surprised. He's really fond of his grandfather, so he's dedicated the routine to him. Don't tell him I told you, though- he'll probably throw a skate at me to protect his angsty, tough image."

"Oh, that's so sweet of him to do that for his grandfather," Yuuri cooes into the phone. "How did he end up doing that piece? Did Yakov choose it?"

"I actually choreographed _Agape_ for him," Viktor tells him, smiling at the memory. "It's a gorgeous piece and I really liked it. There are two variations of the song: _On Love: Agape_ , and _On Love: Eros_. I was torn between them before the season started, so I choreographed routines for both pieces, hoping to use one in competition. So one day this summer Yurio barges into practice and starts to yell at me, demanding the routine I promised him for his senior debut. I'd accidentally forgotten about it- I'm a bit forgetful sometimes, unfortunately. So I gave him _Agape_ , and it's worked out really well for him."

"And you ended up with _Eros_ … what does eros mean?" Yuuri asks.

"Sexual love."

"Oh," Yuuri mumbles. Viktor can imagine him blushing, the way the line goes quiet for a few seconds. "So... definitely not something Yuri would skate to?"

"Oh, he wanted to use _Eros_. But Yakov would behead me if I gave a fifteen year-old a routine about sex and seduction," Viktor chuckles. "So _Eros_ became my short program.”

“It was really… vibrant,” Yuuri compliments him, his voice rough and thick from sleepiness, and _oh_ , the butterflies Viktor feels in his stomach from the sound. “I could definitely feel the passion and seduction through my livestream. You expressed yourself so well in your movements.”

“Like a ballet dancer?” Viktor teases.

Yuuri gives a husky laugh on the other end, and Viktor sinks into his pillows, flinging an arm over his eyes. “Sure. Except I don’t think ballet dancers are supposed to seduce the audience.”

Oh, the irony. 

“But the way you looked at the camera… wow. I felt that.” Yuuri sighs. “Definitely the sexiest run I’ve seen yet. Um… this might be a weird question, but do you think of anyone or anything to help you get into character?”

Viktor bites his tongue to keep himself from blurting out the truth- that Yuuri was on the forefront of his mind as he performed yesterday, imagining doing all sorts of unspeakable things to him back in his bed. He decides to deflect with another question instead of answering. “You’ve watched me perform _Eros_ before?”

“Of course I have!” Yuuri takes the bait. “I was already a fan before I met you, remember? I’ve followed your career for a few years now. And I went to the Rostelecom Cup last month with Mila.”

Viktor bolts upright in bed, phone flying. He scrambles to grab it, his heart racing a mile a minute. 

_What the fuck, what the fuck_ -

“Wait, you- you were at Rostelecom?? You saw me skate??” He’s frantically going back to his memories of that weekend, when he and Mila went out for drinks afterwards, trying to think if he somehow met Yuuri and forgot about him. There’s no way. He would’ve remembered meeting him.

Wouldn’t he?

“Yeah, um, Mila invited me to come with her,” Yuuri says carefully. “I know she went to meet up with you afterwards, but I didn’t want to intrude, so… I left after the competition.”

Viktor feels like his whole world has been flipped upside down. They could’ve met. He could’ve known Yuuri a little bit sooner had the circumstances been right.

“Why didn’t- you didn’t want to meet me? Why haven’t you mentioned it before?” Viktor asks, trying to shove down the hurt that rises up his throat. He feels so guilty for feeling that way, but it’s one of his biggest flaws, unfortunately; he can be pretty selfish.

“I, ah- I was embarrassed, to be honest,” Yuuri confesses. “I didn’t want to look like some crazy fan like one of Yuri’s Angels. I wanted you and Mila to have that moment together after your win without me butting in. And I’m glad we eventually met the way we did, at the theatre. Though I still can’t believe you said all those things about my dancing.”

“I wasn’t exaggerating,” Viktor says, the guilt starting to fade. “You do dance wonderfully, and your duets with Mila were my favorite part of the entire ballet.”

Yuuri makes a strangled noise on the other end. “Oh my god, stop.”

“Never, my dear Yuuri. Do you still have the program I signed for you?”

“... yes,” Yuuri reluctantly says. “Don’t make fun of me for that.”

“Of course not!” Viktor’s shocked that Yuuri would even suggest it. “I wouldn’t sign a program for just anyone, you know. I had a feeling about you, back when we met. And I turned out to be right. Getting to know you over the past month has been one of the greatest joys I've ever experienced in my skating career. I can't thank you enough."

"Me?" Yuuri sounds bewildered. "I’m not part of your skating career, Viktor- I’m just a dancer."

"You're so much more," Viktor says softly. _Careful, careful_. He's tiptoeing on the line between their current platonic relationship and an all-out love confession.

Yuuri gives a sharp intake of breath. "Can I call you Vitya?"

 _Yes, yes, yes, absolutely_ _yes_. "I'd love that, Yuuri."

“Tell me more about Barcelona, Vitya,” Yuuri’s voice murmurs to him. “I’ve never been to Spain.”

So Viktor launches into his day, how grueling practice was, especially with the media trying to capture as much pre-final footage as possible. He talks about how amazing the food is, how friendly the people in the city are and how he wishes he had more time to shop and sightsee. Viktor’s talking so much, he doesn’t realize Yuuri’s fallen asleep until he hears a faint snore through the speaker.

“I’m sorry, my Yuuri. I didn’t mean to keep you up,” Viktor says, knowing Yuuri won’t hear him anyway. “Sleep well.”

He hangs up before he realizes he misspoke.

 _My Yuuri_ , he’d said.

Not _my dear Yuuri_.

My Yuuri.

“My Yuuri,” he whispers to the empty hotel room before setting down his phone on the nightstand and turning off the lamp.

Sleep doesn’t find him until quite a long time later.

* * *

Sunday afternoon arrives without fanfare, and Viktor’s bracing himself for his monumental free skate, his earbuds blasting Tchaikovsky and going through the footwork of his routine in the hallway of the arena.

Armed with good luck texts from Yuuri & Mila earlier this morning, he’s drifted through the day with a quiet, determined attitude. Yakov confiscated his phone before the competition began this afternoon, so he won’t have any further distractions. There’s a lot riding on this skate today, but he’s no stranger to pressure. He knows there’s nothing more he can do than what he’s prepared for, but he’s still anxious about what Yuuri will think. 

Chris is in the middle of his routine, and Yuri’s preparing to go on the ice next, earbuds in and his face determined as he strides past Viktor with Yakov, his _Allegro Appassionato_ costume making him look less like the teenager he is and more like some unearthly, beautiful creature from hell. Which would probably be a compliment in Yuri’s eyes.

Yuri stops before he exits the hallway and looks back at where Viktor's still preparing.

"Do him proud and don't fuck up," Yuri says, the sharpness of his eyes softening a little. “He deserves a damn good skate.”

Viktor grins. " _Davai_ , Yuri."

Yuri gives a smirk of his own before whipping his head back around, blonde ponytail swishing as he marches away to the rink.

He ignores the sounds of the announcers, the crowd, and the staff as he keeps warming up, going over the order of his jumps one last time. Triple axel, quad loop, then a double toe-double loop combo, quad flip, quad salchow… Then all too soon, it’s time for him to leave the warmup area. Viktor laces up his skates and puts on his skate guards, and enters the rink to see the last few seconds of Yuri’s free skate.

Even from far away, he sees Yuri tear up when he poses at the end of his routine, crumpling onto the ice and sobbing as his fans cheer and throw roses and various cat-themed knick-knacks from the stands. The sight fills Viktor with so much pride- he’s grown a lot as a skater and Yuuri’s help has definitely paid off. Viktor knows he’ll medal before the scores are even announced.

He’s so caught up in Yuri’s personal victory that he almost forgets that it’s his turn to bring emotion onto the ice now. It hits him then, the weight of what he’s about to do; what he’s about to confess to the world. Viktor swears he’s never been this nervous before a senior competition. It’s not just his technical elements and scores that he’s concerned about-he wants to make sure he does justice to Yuuri and their relationship.

Yakov comes over from being with Yuri at the kiss and cry, and Viktor places his skate guards next to where he leans over on the ledge of the rink.

“Any last words for me, coach?” Viktor asks jokingly, trying to hide how anxious he really is under the surface as he takes off his jacket and hands it to Yakov.

Yakov pats his shoulder, a rare grin on his weathered face. “You heard Yuratchka. He deserves a damn good skate.”

Viktor grips Yakov’s hand and winks before turning around to meet his fate.

There’s a lot of gasps and muttering amongst the audience as Viktor takes off onto the ice and reveals his new Cavalier-inspired costume to the world, but by the time the announcer introduces him to the rink, it’s turned into the same loud cheers he’s always gotten from the crowd. 

“Please welcome to the ice, representing Russia, Viktor Nikiforov!”

Viktor absorbs the screams and yells as he skates to the middle of the rink, the last minute _davais_ shouted from the crowd, echoing across the enormous arena, and pauses in the center in his opening pose.

He takes a quick breath, closing his eyes momentarily to center himself, and lifts his head.

_This is for you, Yuuri._

The opening harp sounds and Viktor starts to move, fluidity and grace incarnate on the ice. He draws the emotion from the piece and puts it into his skate, just like he’s practiced. Every turn of his blades, every sweep of his arm brings forth the feelings from him and Yuuri’s relationship and tells their story. 

He remembers their first meeting, the initial attraction, and how the spark ignited between them, drawing each to the other. That spark is a triple axel; he launches himself up into the air and lands it perfectly, holding his leg out like he imagines Yuuri would do, how he taught Yuri back at his home rink in Moscow. The crowd applauds, and Viktor continues with his next quad, which he also executes cleanly. 

A step sequence begins as the strings diminish and an oboe solo becomes the forefront of the song, and his face turns slightly mischievous, flirty- like their text conversations, keeping them awake into the late hours of the night. 

Then comes his more difficult jump combinations, and here he concentrates with all his might as he goes into his quad flip, his signature element. It’s bold, putting it in the back half of his routine, and he remembers what Yuuri told him at the rink that one December morning.

_“You’re always bolder than most skaters in your storytelling, your passion. That’s why I admire you so much.”_

The quad flip, too, goes perfectly, and the audience goes wild the more Viktor pushes on. Viktor normally finds himself lagging at this part in his program, but he feels reinvigorated, as the music crescendos and becomes more intense.

At the climax of the song, during Yuuri’s iconic lift, Viktor goes into a perfect Ina Bauer, gliding across the entire rink like a fairy. Just like at the theatre, the audience claps fiercely, and the parallels between their performances make him choke up a little. He’s too caught up in his thoughts that he nearly flubs his last jump, barely touching his hand down his quad salchow, but that’s no matter, he’s made up for it earlier.

Then the piece comes to its close, Viktor spinning rapidly in his flying sit spin as the timpanis rattle in a drumroll, coming to its grand conclusion when he extends his arms out towards the main camera, his smile just as composed and serene as Yuuri’s onstage.

The final chord from the strings echo in the arena, and Viktor can barely hear himself breathe, let alone the announcer as the audience screams and a cascade of flowers and plushies rain down onto the ice. His ears are ringing but his smile is bright, blinding as he bows to all sides of the rink.

He’s done it. It feels so _good_ to have finally done it, like a breath of fresh air after years of programs that haven’t done much to scrape the surface of his passion, his drive to skate. If this is what it feels like to skate for someone other than himself, then he’ll gladly give his soul to Yuuri, no strings attached.

Viktor grabs a stray puppy plush thrown from a fan that looks like Makkachin, and once he steps off the ice, he embraces Yakov without saying a word. There’s cameras trained on him now and he doesn’t want to say anything related to Yuuri. He suspects the Japanese dancer would be a bit cautious about his privacy, especially since Viktor’s such a high-profile athlete. 

“Sloppy quad salchow,” Yakov says loudly enough for the cameras to hear. “But your performance presence and step sequence was the best I’ve seen yet. Good job.”

Viktor could care less about his quad salchow; he’s on top of the world as he walks with Yakov to the kiss and cry, sitting down on the ledge they’ve provided for him. As far as he’s concerned, he’s skated his best program yet, with his heart bared on his chest for the world to see.

“You did do well, Vitya,” Yakov says gruffly into his ear. “But no matter how good those scores are, you’re still never doing this to me again.”

Viktor laughs, and it feels so light, so uplifting now that his performance is done. “No promises.”

Yakov opens his mouth to argue but he’s silenced by the announcer.

“The scores, please, for Viktor Nikiforov.”

The rink goes silent and Viktor leans forward, intently watching the monitor in front of him and clutching the plushie.

“Viktor Nikiforov has earned in the free program 207.18 points. His total is 310.02 points, and is currently in first place.”

A split second after the announcement rings out the crowd roars: Viktor’s beaten his personal best. 

He beams and waves at the cameras pushing into his face, imagining Yuuri’s handsome face in front of him instead of the blank, empty lenses. Yuuri, with his small but glowing smile, deep brown eyes shining with joy, and it makes him feel even better.

“Viktor! A word on your incredible free skate!” Reporters cluster around him, and he unconsciously backs up into Yakov, ready to get out of the kiss & cry and away from all these people so he can finally see what Yuuri thinks-

“He’ll answer your questions at the press conference,” Yakov says gruffly, taking Viktor by the shoulders and pushing him through the throng of people. “But for now, we’re very pleased with the results, and we’ll continue to develop the program for Russian Nationals and the World Championships. Thank you.”

Viktor allows himself to be shoved by Yakov away from everyone until they’re finally out of the rink, and Viktor hugs him again once they’re clear of any media or onlookers. 

“Thank you, Yakov.”

Yakov waves him off, annoyed as he presses his cell phone into his hand. “Go answer your damn phone, Vitya. It’s been buzzing nonstop since I’ve been holding onto it.” He gives him a stern warning look. “Just don’t be late for the medal ceremony.”

Viktor’s heart is flying out of his chest as he walks away, opening all his notifications.

He has a few texts from Mila congratulating him on the gold, a thousand texts from Georgi about how romantic the routine was, and-

There. A missed call and two texts from Yuuri.

**Yuuri:** viktor call me please

 **Yuuri:** i don’t have the words to tell u what im feeling over text

The euphoria he’s felt since leaving the ice comes crashing down and is replaced with horror, sinking down into Viktor’s stomach. Oh _fuck_ , this is it, he’s really messed up this time and pushed sweet, sensitive Yuuri over the edge. He probably thinks Viktor’s some kind of malicious playboy, toying with Yuuri’s emotions and using him for his own personal gains to get the gold.

 _He must hate me_.

Viktor bolts to the bathroom, knowing the hallways and greenroom will be overrun with people setting up for the awards ceremony. He wants to be able to talk to Yuuri without being overheard- the press would have a field day if they ever heard rumours of the legendary Viktor Nikiforov having an emotional breakdown.

He locks himself in a stall and dials Yuuri’s number, panicking and fighting the ugly, dark dread that’s rearing in his head. Were Mila and Yuri wrong after all this time? Did Yuuri not actually like him at all? What if he misread every word, misinterpreted every touch and glance-

“I’m sorry,” Viktor says in a rush as soon as Yuuri picks up the phone. “I’m so sorry for all the pain and hurt I’ve caused you, Yuuri. I swear it wasn’t my intention to be selfish and use you just for a medal-”

“No, no! Stop it, of course I don’t think that about you,” Yuuri interrupts. His voice sounds timid, wobbling as if he’s about to cry. “I just- did your program mean what I think it did? Or am I just that stupid-”

“What do you think I meant with it?” Viktor asks, his hands shaking as he grips his phone tightly. 

Yuuri gives a big, heaving breath on the other side of the line but doesn’t answer. 

“Please know,” Viktor pleads with him. “You must know what I meant.”

“I… that you love me.” It’s small, unsure. Like Yuuri can’t believe the words that have just come out of his mouth.

“I do love you, Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor says quietly. There’s a gasp on the other end, but he continues. “I’ve been drawn to you ever since I saw you dance back in November and I’ve fallen a little bit more in love with you every day I’ve talked to you, texted you, and seen you perform and I desperately hoped you could somehow find a way to love me too. That’s why I skated to that piece today. It was all for you.”

Yuuri makes a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Oh my god, Viktor… Mila and I watched it together just now, and after you finished she turned to me and told me that I better hurry up and confess to you before you go off the rails with more dramatics. You know I’ve always adored you, for years and years on end, but when we met I think that’s when it turned into something more. And I’m so sorry, I’m just godawful with hints and everything-”

“Don’t.” Viktor feels himself tear up. “Don’t you _dare_ apologize for that.”

“Can’t help it,” Yuuri replies. “I wasn’t sure, when Yuri asked me to come to the rink that one time, whether you were just flirting with me or if you really wanted to kiss me… and it gave me hope, afterwards, when we kept having all those conversations together, but in any case… Vitya, you can’t imagine how moved I was when I saw you skate just now. I love you so much.”

Viktor opens his mouth to respond when a loud BANG! hits the door of his stall.

“Who was that-”

“Oh my FUCKING god, Viktor, you have two minutes to get your pathetic ass out here for the awards ceremony or I’m dragging you out myself,” Yuri Plisetsky yells, his voice echoing in the empty bathroom. “I don’t give a shit how much Katsuki is making you cry right now, you’re NOT making me late to get my first senior Grand Prix medal.”

Viktor opens the stall door and holds his phone out to Yuri, beaming through his watery eyes. “Yuuri called to tell me that he saw the program and he loves me back! Want to give him a message, Yurio?”

“You’re the stupidest ballet dancer I’ve ever met,” Yuri says in a deadpan voice into the speaker. “I can’t believe it took this long.”

“Congratulations on the silver medal!” Yuuri calls out. “Your skate was amazing!”

Yuri rolls his eyes and snatches the phone from Viktor. “Your boyfriend’s about to be late for our ceremony if he doesn’t shut up,” he says as a farewell, hanging up and tossing the phone back to Viktor’s still trembling hands. “Clean yourself up, old man. You look like shit.”

Yuri leaves, and Viktor quickly presses his face with a cold & damp paper towel, trying to bring the redness of his eyes and nose down. Once he looks somewhat camera-ready he takes a deep breath and straightens out his costume before he exits the bathroom.

As he waits with Yuri and Otabek in the halls for the announcers to call out their names for their respective medals, he feels one more buzz from his phone tucked into his waistband.

  
  


**Yuuri:** i didn’t have time to tell u before yuri interrupted us, but i thought ur program was the most beautiful one i’ve ever seen from u

 **Yuuri:** i’m truly honored to be a part of ur skating, vitya <3

* * *

The medal ceremony is a happy, tear-filled blur. He doesn’t remember much of it besides Otabek helping him up to the top of the podium, Yuri attempting to be subtle and give Otabek a triumphant grin & thumbs up when the Kazakh gets his bronze medal, and the cameras blinding him as usual once the gold is placed around his neck. But this time it’s different, the sense of pride that swells in him as he holds up his medal and poses, his smile more real than it’s been in months.

Then it’s over, and Viktor’s collapsing in the greenroom as he takes off his skates to get ready for the press conference. He feels like he’s completed an emotional and physical marathon, the way the energy leaves his body all at once. But first, he’s got to post.

He uploads a selfie from the podium to his Instagram story, of him, Yuri and Otabek holding their medals, tagging them and captioning it with at least ten heart emojis.

Then he posts a picture Chris got of him in the stands to his main feed, a glittering silver and pink fairy soaring across the ice in his Ina Bauer. The caption is innocent and vague enough to any casual fan, but he knows Yuuri will pick up that it’s for him.

**v_nikiforov** : nothing but golden days ahead, my dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made Otabek get bronze in this version. Sue me, he deserves it.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated as usual!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Yuuri see each other for the first time after VIktor's gold-winning performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one we've all been waiting for :) thanks for all your support as always, everyone! This should be my second to last chapter-unfortunately I won't be able to finish this fic before Christmas as originally planned, but I'll definitely have the last chapter posted before New Years. I hope everyone has a happy holiday season and stays safe!!

Viktor Nikiforov, sixth time Grand Prix gold medalist, is pleasantly drunk.

The exhibition skates are over, the banquet nearing its end as well, and he’s currently being dragged back to his hotel room by an equally drunk Yuri Plisetsky so they can catch some sleep before their early flight and ward off their hangovers for a little while longer. Unlike Viktor, he’s in his street garb instead of classic banquet attire: leopard print sneakers, black jeans, and hoodie drawn up over his head to hide his hair. Yuri’s Angels are notorious for somehow finding their way into the skaters’ hotels during competition season. 

The majority of Viktor’s night post-competition was spent downing champagne with Chris and sneaking even more glasses to Yuri without Yakov noticing. He took a million pictures: with Chris, with Yuri and Otabek roped together, and a few by himself, and had everyone help him pick and send what he deemed the cutest ones to Yuuri for him to open when he wakes up tomorrow.

Somehow in his drunken haze he manages to corral the Crispino siblings and get a quick picture with them before Yuri pulls him out of the banquet room. He figures he owes Mila for all her help.

“Let me know the next time you’re in Moscow,” he whispers to Sara before Chris takes the photo, leaning in so that her brother won’t hear. “I’ve got a friend who’s a fan. She’d love to meet up.”

Michele’s eyes narrow at how close Viktor is to his sister, but Sara seems thrilled, and waves happily as the Russian team heads out for the night.

“What the hell was that about?” Yuri asks suspiciously, once they’re alone in the hotel elevator. “You’re not friends with Michele or Sara.”

Viktor shrugs. “Favor for Mila. She’s got a thing for Sara.”

Yuri hiccups and rolls his eyes. “Of course she does.”

He tugs absentmindedly on a lock of blonde hair, eyes shifting back and forth on the elevator buttons. “Hey, Viktor- I’m glad it worked out with Katsuki. He’s a good guy.”

“Aww, Yuri!” Viktor's sure that's the champagne talking and that Yuri wouldn't actually be that nice all of a sudden, but he lurches towards him, unsteady on his feet, and Yuri holds out his hand to stop him. “No, no, that was not an invitation to hug me, don’t touch me,” he hisses.

“Too late,” Viktor wrestles him into a hug, Yuri protesting and spitting like an angry cat. “I’m still happy you helped.”

“I’m regretting it every day,” Yuri says, his face squashed against Viktor’s shoulder. He pushes Viktor off and scowls. “Hey, Viktor- how did you know? With Yuuri?”

“Hmmm?” Viktor turns his head, smirking. “What are you asking?”

“I’m asking,” Yuri says slowly, his face growing red, “what made you realize you wanted to be more than friends. And _don’t_ say it was the shape of his ass or some gross shit like that.”

It takes Viktor a few seconds to put the pieces together in his inebriated state. “Ohhh, I see. Is this about your exhibition skate with Otabek-”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, old man,” Yuri snarls, shoving him hard against the elevator door. “You don’t know anything about me and Beka.”

Viktor’s smile grows even though he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him. “Beka?”

“Oh, forget it, you’re the worst,” Yuri stalks out of the elevator as soon as they reach their floor. “I’m gonna destroy you.”

Viktor frowns, trying to keep up with his fast pace to their rooms. “Yuri, there’s no more competitions til next month, stop being so mean-”

“I’LL DESTROY YOU,” Yuri yells in his face, green eyes blazing.

On cue, Yakov’s door opens right in front of where Yuri’s standing, wearing a two-piece pajama set and a stony frown.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” he says, his voice deathly low. “If I have to hear or see any more dramatics from you OR Vitya this year I’ll strangle you both by your medals. Am I clear?”

“Run,” Viktor grabs Yuri’s arm and sprints back down the hallway with him, the two of them cackling and stumbling over their feet as Yakov shouts at their retreating backs.

* * *

They fly back to Moscow the next morning, Yuri curled up asleep in his seat and his head on Viktor’s shoulder the whole time. His hangover’s a lot worse than Viktor’s, and he wears an eye mask in addition to his stereotypical black face mask to block out any light. It’s oddly endearing to see him in such a calm, non-aggressive state, so Viktor snaps a few pictures to treasure the moment. 

When they land in the late afternoon, Yuri awakes with all the fury of his self-given name of the Ice Tiger of Russia, and Viktor hastily grabs his luggage to avoid being the target of his yelling and irritation, hopping into the first taxi he sees. He’s ready to see Makkachin again, to shower, and to sleep forever.

Well, maybe not forever. He’s got a boyfriend to meet up with eventually.

His dog greets him happily as soon as he steps through the door, jumping and his tail going haywire, and Viktor collapses next to him and holds him tight.

“Makkachin, I’ve missed you,” he says, scratching him under his chin. “I’ve gone through so much since I last saw you. But I bet Georgi told you all about his own emotional baggage, hm?” 

Makkachin just sits and leans against Viktor’s side as he pets him, unbothered. 

Eventually, Viktor gets tired from sitting on the hard floor. He gets his nice, hot shower and puts on fresh clothes, and is ready to get settled in bed with some chamomile tea to rehydrate and sleep off the flight when he hears a knock at his door.

Viktor stretches and groans, shuffling over from the kitchen. Knowing how forgetful he is, it’s probably Yakov with something he’s forgotten to grab from the luggage carousel. 

“Yakov, I-” Viktor stops short as he pulls the door open and finds a bundled up Yuuri Katsuki standing on his doorstep, eyes bright and cheeks rosy from the cold.

“Hi,” Viktor says, the breath leaving his lungs in one rush of air. He’s wearing his comfiest sweats and he probably looks like a mess, with bags under his eyes and his hair still damp and tousled from his shower, but Yuuri’s looking at him like he’s still a god incarnate.

“Hi,” Yuuri says back, shifting back and forth on the threshold. “I know you just got back and you’re probably really tired, but-”

“No, no, please come in,” Viktor gestures him inside, and Yuuri steps into his apartment, shivering as he takes off his coat and shoes. He’s wearing a hoodie and his usual joggers- comfortable, casual. Viktor feels better about his worn sweatshirt.

“Oh!” He kneels down as Makkachin comes trotting over, happy to meet a new person. “He looks just like Vicchan,” he smiles, scratching Makkachin behind the ears.

“That’s Makkachin,” Viktor steps past him to hang up his jacket. “Can I get you tea, or water, or…?”

“Tea’s fine,” Yuuri nods, and Viktor pours him a cup of chamomile as well.

Yuuri takes the mug from him but doesn’t drink from it. “I… I don’t know how to start, really. I know we already talked, and we both stand on the same side on how we feel about each other, but I wanted to see you as soon as I could. I had the day off today.”

“No, I feel the same,” Viktor says. “I’ve been really eager to get some more things off my chest in person. I wanted to tell you, I didn’t tell the media anything about you when they asked about why I changed my free skate at the press conference.”

“I noticed.” Yuuri’s lips are pressed together in a thin line, clearly a little uncomfortable, and Viktor hesitates.

“Do- do you want to go public with this? We can keep it secret, if you want. I didn’t want to have strangers invade your privacy without your permission.”

Understanding dawns on Yuuri’s face. “Oh! That’s why you didn’t say anything?”

“Of course,” Viktor fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt, suddenly feeling awkward and not knowing what to do with his hands. “I wasn’t about to throw you to the wolves without making sure you were okay with it.”

“I appreciate it,” Yuuri replies. “Is it okay if I make up my mind later?”

“Take all the time you need, my dear Yuuri. No rush.”

Yuuri takes a sip of the tea, his hands curling around the mug. “I’m sorry for that misunderstanding, just now. And I’m still really sorry for not telling you I went to see you at Rostelecom. I wish we could’ve met sooner-”

“Yuuri, darling, don’t you dare apologize,” Viktor comes up to him, placing his hands over Yuuri’s and rubbing them soothingly. “If anything, I should be the one to apologize. The night before I flew to Spain, I went to see you perform again. I didn’t tell you because- well, at the time, I wasn’t sure how you felt about me. I didn’t want to cause you any distractions.”

Yuuri’s brown eyes are wide, Viktor’s face reflected in them. They’re a deep, rich color, like dark chocolate- Viktor wants to drown in them forever. “That’s why- shit, I thought I saw you there,” he lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh- sorry, I don’t normally swear-”

“Yuuri, please. I’m rinkmates with Yurio. Who, incidentally, also snuck out to see you dance that night without telling anyone.”

Yuuri’s shaking his head, glancing away from Viktor as he blinks back tears. 

“He looks up to you, you know,” Viktor says, grinning. “Though he’ll never admit it to your face. You’ve become quite important to us, Katsuki Yuuri.”

“God, why- why me?” Yuuri whispers into his tea. “Why would you both waste your time on someone who’s not even a skater, who can’t even become a principal after years of training and studying all over the world-”

“When are you going to get it into your head, Yuuri,” Viktor pries Yuuri’s hands carefully off the mug and sets it down on the coffee table, “that you are extraordinary?”

Yuuri stares up at him in wonder, and Viktor inches forward again. He feels like they’re at the rink again, chest to chest, Yuuri’s pretty, pretty mouth parting open as he exhales. But this time he wants to do it right.

“You’re extraordinary,” he repeats, lifting a finger and carefully wiping a tear from Yuuri’s cheek. “I can’t think of anyone else in the world who has your determination and talent.”

He takes one of Yuuri’s hands, and gently presses a kiss to the back of his hand. He watches Yuuri’s pupils dilate, ever so slightly, and gives another down on his inner wrist.

“And I really want to kiss you,” he whispers. 

Yuuri closes his eyes, reaches up on tiptoe, and finally kisses him.

His kiss is tender, full of hope and promise. Like the first breath before a performance, the first step of a dance between the two of them. Viktor kisses back with just as much care, cupping his face and moving his thumb back and forth across Yuuri’s cheek.

He parts his lips and brushes his tongue against Yuuri’s with slow, lazy strokes, and the dancer sighs, melting against him and growing pliant, his arms wrapping around Viktor’s neck. He’s surrounded by the feel of him, and he never wants to let go and feel the empty space between them, the loss of warmth and sensation and Yuuri against his body.

“ _Vitya_ ,” Yuuri sighs against his lips, and if Viktor wasn’t so determined to kiss him senseless, he’d devote himself to making Yuuri whisper his name over and over again. 

The air shifts when Viktor breaks away and tugs on Yuuri’s bottom lip with his teeth. 

Yuuri gasps, his hands tightening against Viktor’s shoulders, and Viktor’s emboldened by the sound. He does it again, a tiny smile on his lips as Yuuri chases his mouth and kisses deeper, more urgently than before. Viktor decides to take another risk and moves his hands to Yuuri’s waist, edging them around until they’re settled on his perky ass, and squeezes.

Yuuri jumps as if he’s been shocked, and Viktor’s worried he might have crossed the line until he sees the lust in Yuuri’s eyes, the way his lashes flutter and the side of his mouth quirks up in a smile. 

“Couldn’t resist,” Viktor defends himself. “I’ve wanted to do that for days.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“Well, I’ve wanted to do _this_.”

He watches Yuuri squat down in front of him, puzzled, and then Viktor squeaks, wrapping his legs tightly around Yuuri’s waist and clinging onto his shoulders as the dancer lifts him up by the backs of his thighs and easily carries him across the room, pecking a small kiss on Viktor’s cheek as he walks to the sofa. He knew Yuuri was strong, with all his training and his dancer’s build, but it still takes him by surprise. It feeds Viktor’s wild imagination even more, thinking about all the things Yuuri could do to him with his arms, his insane upper body control. 

Yuuri half-drops, half-sets Viktor down on the couch and climbs on top of him, a solid presence on his lap as those glorious thighs of his bracket Viktor’s sides and keep himself from pressing his whole weight onto him as they make out. _Fuck_ , Yuuri’s legs are something else. Viktor wants to write a thousand odes to them as he slides his palms up and down to feel the taut muscle, grinning as Yuuri makes a small groan against his mouth.

Viktor inclines his head and starts a slow path along Yuuri’s jaw, and Yuuri’s next breath hitches in his throat as Viktor reaches his neck. 

“No marks,” Yuuri warns him. “I’ve got a performance tomorrow.”

“That’s what stage makeup is for, darling,” Viktor teases, but obeys his wishes and keeps his kisses gentle, resisting the urge to scrape his teeth against his lover’s skin. When he reaches the hollow of Yuuri’s throat he stops, letting himself catch his breath.

“You’re exquisite,” Viktor pants, the heat of his breath fanning across Yuuri’s collarbones and causing the dancer to shiver. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen onstage.” 

“You take my breath away, Vitya,” Yuuri answers just as quietly, and Viktor feels his heart bursting to the brim with joy. He takes Yuuri’s chin in hand and brings his mouth back to his own, and the dance between their mouths, between their bodies begins once more.

Viktor feels his hips begin to move as they keep kissing, making a gentle rocking motion against Yuuri with every breath he takes. It feels incredible, the friction between them, and even more so to feel Yuuri reciprocating too.

The next time he jerks his hips up he feels the hardness of Yuuri’s cock pressing into him, and he grinds into it, chasing the feeling.

Yuuri’s body stiffens a little at the contact, and the spell is broken. He breaks off the kiss and lifts himself up higher on his knees to try and create more space between them.

“I- I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s fine,” Viktor says, trying not to appear too eager; he’s just as aroused as Yuuri is in his sweatpants, by the feel of it. “Your body’s just reacting to mine, it’s natural.”

“I know, it’s just-” Yuuri groans, his hands covering his eyes.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Viktor gently moves his hands away from his face and kisses down the tips of his fingers. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, alright? We’ll go at your pace.”

“I do want to,” Yuuri breathes.

Viktor drops Yuuri’s hands and sits up a little against the cushions, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri’s face is beet-red even in the dim light of Viktor’s living room. “But I feel that… it’s only been a month since we met. And you’re so special to me, and I want to take it a little slower, not rush into it without thinking it through-” he stops, hesitant. "I mean, if you actually want me?"

"Katsuki Yuuri," Viktor says sincerely, "If you said the word I'd take you right here, right now on this sofa. Of course I want you."

“Um- that’s- okay,” Yuuri stutters, a big smile spreading across his face. “I want you too. But I guess that’s obvious.”

“Mmm. I had my suspicions.”

Yuuri lightly hits his bicep, giggling, and it's so endearing and utterly _Yuuri_ that Viktor wraps his arms around him and holds him close, breathing in the clean scent of his hair and hoodie.

Now that they’ve stopped kissing, Viktor can feel the weight of sleep threatening to crush him, every suppressed yawn bringing tears to his eyes. But he shoves it down, because sweet, considerate Yuuri would definitely leave if he saw how tired Viktor was, to give him a breather from his chaotic weekend.

“Do you want me to move, or..?” Yuuri shifts a little on his lap, and that _definitely_ has Viktor’s blood running south again.

“No, you can stay here. I like feeling you on top of me,” Viktor fights another yawn to give a smug smirk to Yuuri. 

“Viktor! You’re not helping...this,” he glances down at his crotch, still embarrassed.

“Well. If it’s any consolation, you’re quite the turn-on too. I’m surprised you hadn’t felt that earlier.”

“Oh my god…”

Viktor gives up and yawns, and it feels like his face is hurtling through a black hole. He’s never adjusted to jet lag very well, and combined with the amount of drinking and lack of sleep he’s gotten over the past 24 hours…

“You alright? I can leave, if you need to get some rest,” Yuuri offers, climbing off of his lap and grabbing his tea to take a deep drink.

“No, I want you to stay longer.” He knows he sounds like a child, complaining the way he is, but he doesn’t care.

 _More_ , his heart demands. _More kissing_. _More talking. More Yuuri._

“Viktor, you’re literally falling asleep as we speak.”

“Stay the night with me, then,” Viktor says. “I want you to sleep with me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri chokes on his next gulp of tea, and he backtracks at Yuuri’s wide-eyed panic. “Not to _sleep_ with me! I mean, yes, sleeping but just actual sleep. Not sex.”

“I don’t know, I don’t have any spare clothes or things with me…” Yuuri swallows and trails off, but Viktor takes his hand again, rubbing his thumb over the back.

“Please stay,” Viktor murmurs to Yuuri. “You can let yourself out when I fall asleep, I just- I want you to stay. No shenanigans.”

Yuuri snorts, holding back laughter, and Viktor knows he’s won.

“Okay. No shenanigans.”

* * *

They climb into Viktor’s bed and Yuuri draws the covers over them as Viktor presses himself to Yuuri’s back and drapes an arm over his waist and up his chest, lying on his side and acting as the big spoon. Yuuri’s heartbeat is strong, steady under Viktor’s palm as the two of them lay in the dark. 

“Yuuri?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you going back to Japan for Christmas to see your family?”

Yuuri sighs, legs shifting under the blankets. “No. I don’t have enough time between performances, and I’m too broke to afford a plane ticket right now.”

Viktor feels the sadness in his voice, and hugs him tighter. “I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s alright.”

There’s a pause, where Viktor quickly forms a plan in his head. “Do you have plans for Christmas Eve?”

“Just a performance around 7pm,” Yuuri says, twisting around to face him. “Why?”

“We’ll celebrate Christmas Eve and my birthday together,” Viktor nuzzles at Yuuri’s nose and watches him smile. “I’ll go to your show and take you back here afterwards for dinner, and you can stay the night if you want. Does that sound alright?”

“You can’t cook me dinner for your own birthday!” Yuuri sounds horrified. “And I thought your birthday was on the 25th, not the 24th?”

Viktor shrugs. “It is the 25th, but we don’t really celebrate Christmas here in Russia. I don’t mind celebrating Christmas Eve with you and making sure you have a good holiday, though. I know it’s more commonplace in Japan to celebrate on the 24th, and it’ll make my birthday the next day all the more memorable.”

Yuuri thinks about it. “Ah… I usually eat dinner before my performances, since they end late,” he says apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Wine and dessert, then,” Viktor suggests, and Yuuri nods. “And I know staying the night may sound a bit… much right now, but I want you to know that I’m not expecting anything from you. Sex or no sex, I’d be happy to share your company.”

Yuuri takes one of Viktor’s palms and kisses it, mirroring how Viktor comforted him earlier. “It sounds perfect, Vitya.”

Yuuri turns around again, his back flush against Viktor’s chest. Viktor’s about to fall asleep when something else crosses his mind. “Yuuri?”

“Mmm?”

“How did you even get my address?”

“Yuri gave it to me.”

“Yurio?!”

“Sh, don’t yell,” Yuuri pokes his stomach. “And don’t call him that either. We talk every now and then. I’m going to give him some more ballet lessons to help him for Russian Nationals and Worlds.”

Viktor pouts. “Yuuri, why didn’t you offer to help me?” He whines. “Your own boyfriend?”

“Well, I thought lessons wouldn’t help you much,” Yuuri contemplates. “We’d probably get too distracted.”

Viktor presses a kiss into the nape of Yuuri’s neck. “I’m offended, Yuuri. Thinking I’d dare distract my instructor like that- I’d be a model student,” he whispers into Yuuri’s ear, pulling him tighter against his chest.

Yuuri clutches onto Viktor’s arms, his fingers stroking up and down from elbow to wrist. “Mmmm. I’m sure you would be. Just think about all the benefits of flexibility.”

“Flirt,” Viktor feels the remnants of their heated makeout stir again, deep in his abdomen. “I hope you’ll dance and do all sorts of flexible things in my dreams tonight, my dear Yuuri.”

He sees the tips of Yuuri’s ears get red, but Yuuri gives a low chuckle. 

“Good. I hope so too.”

* * *

Viktor’s almost asleep when Yuuri finally moves again, untangling himself from his arms and legs.

“Yuuri,” he groans, rolling over and blindly reaching out for him.

“Shh, don’t get up,” Yuuri says, and just like that, Viktor’s eyes flutter closed again and he falls asleep. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Yuuri whispers to Viktor, leaning over and kissing the top of his forehead. “Sleep well, Vitya.” 

He sends a quick selfie to Phichit before he leaves, and as soon as he’s out the door the barrage of texts from his best friend come flooding in.

**Phichit:** !!!!!!!!

 **Phichit:** OH MY GOD YUURI

 **Phichit:** THAT’S NOT YOUR ROOM

 **Phichit:** u are NOT in Viktor’s bed rn???? tell me you finally did the dirty

 **Yuuri:** uh

 **Phichit:** no. i refuse to believe u chickened out

 **Yuuri:** …. that’s exactly what happened. i just left his place

 **Phichit:** awwww no!! thats ok, there’s always next time :)

 **Yuuri:** we have a date on christmas eve! it’s still so crazy to think about

 **Phichit:** what, that the guy u literally had fourteen posters of in ur Detroit dorm is now ur bf?

 **Yuuri:** yeah exactly

 **Yuuri:** do u remember the night i got super drunk last year and wrote down all the things i imagined he’d do to me

 **Phichit:** i still have the video footage

 **Yuuri:** he’s way more touchy than i thought he’d be

 **Phichit:** yuuri, my precious child

 **Phichit:** he’s ur boyfriend. i’d be surprised if he didnt want a bit of that sexy, sexy ass

 **Yuuri:** … okay u have a point

 **Phichit:** call me later with the details ;) but i wanna know ur planning for the next date?

 **Yuuri:** i might need ur help with that. i want to be confident enough to act the way he does when he flirts with me 

**Phichit** : yessss we gonna get that confidence up bb! like the way he skates with that short program u showed me last week

 **Yuuri:** exactly

 **Yuuri:** i wanna surprise him even more than he surprises me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secretly supportive Yuri is my favorite trope from this show and nothing can take that away from me.  
> Comments/kudos appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Yuuri go public with their relationship, and have their Christmas Eve date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your patience on this final chapter! I was super ambitious with how long this chapter was, so it took a while to get everything in. I also had to change the rating for the smut in the middle. This is my first time publishing smut- please be nice :)

“Look everyone, I brought Yuuri!” Viktor announces happily as he marches into the rink for practice the day before Christmas Eve, Yuuri in tow. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, keep it PG while I’m here,” Yuri yells across the ice, stopping in the middle of his routine. “If I knew I’d have to watch you two fawn over each other all the time during practice I never would’ve helped you get together.”

“Yurio, I’m a professional! He’s here to watch me skate-”

“Yeah, a real professional pain in my ass,” Yuri snaps back. “Stop calling me Yurio, damn it!”

It’s almost too easy for Viktor to come up with a witty comeback. “Oh? Does Otabek not call you Yurio when you’re talking, then? Or does he call you Yura?”

“I’LL FUCKING END YOU, VIKTOR-”

“Yuri!” Yakov shouts at his youngest student. “What did I say about swearing in my rink?!”

Yuri’s glare at Viktor could melt metal, but he quiets down. “You’re the only one allowed to swear in the rink.” He says grudgingly to Yakov.

Yuuri snorts into his jacket.

“Go take a break while I talk to Vitya,” Yakov comes up to Viktor and Yuuri, eyeing them warily. “So. This is the dancer. I remember seeing you perform, young man.”

Yuuri bows and extends his hand. “I’m Katsuki Yuuri. Please forgive me for causing Vitya so many distractions over the past month.”

Yakov’s stern face melts a little as they shake hands, and Viktor internally cheers. All it takes to win him over is manners and civility, it seems. 

It’s a shame he and his rinkmates don’t have much of that. They’re way too chaotic for Yakov’s liking.

“Thank you for helping Yuratchka with his ballet training. You’re welcome to come back anytime _if_ ,” he directs his next words at Viktor, “we do, in fact, stay professional about it.”

Viktor’s too shameless to be offended or at least try to be, but Yuuri nods respectfully. “Of course, Mr. Feltsman.”

Georgi chooses now to make his appearance and skates up to the two of them, eyes shining. “Oh, you’re Yuuri! You’re such a great dancer! Such artistry!”

“Ah.. thank you,” Yuuri says, a little shy from all the attention he’s getting this morning. 

Viktor rubs the small of his back to comfort him as Georgi prattles on. “The way you carry yourself on the stage is phenomenal, and your performance was so romantic, the way you and Viktor’s friend-”

“And he’s _mine_ , not Mila’s,” Viktor reminds him, sliding his arm around Yuuri’s waist and tugging him away. “Come on, Yuuri, I want you to watch my transition before my quad flip before you go to rehearsal…”

Yuuri gives a halfhearted wave to Georgi and Yakov as Viktor leads them to an empty corner of the rink.

“Was that okay?” Viktor asks quietly into Yuuri’s ear. “Calling you mine? I’m sorry, I forgot to ask how you felt about it first.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri squeezes his hand. “It sounds natural.”

“Good,” Viktor says, pleased. He settles down on a bench and pulls on his skates while Yuuri watches Yuri zoom around the ice for a few moments, a peaceful expression on his face. Viktor knows his boyfriend well enough that he’s deep in thought.

 _Boyfriend_. He still can’t believe it sometimes.

“Reconsidering training such a moody child?” Viktor jokes.

“I’m thinking,” Yuuri tears himself away and gazes down at Viktor, “that I want to go public with you.”

Viktor’s eyes light up, but he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. “Are you sure? That’ll mean more attention on you, more press-”

“I’ve considered everything but really, I’m so happy to be with you, Vitya. It doesn’t matter what strangers think of it. And besides- Mila’s been begging for a picture of us together since I told her we became boyfriends.”

Viktor laughs. “Well, let’s give the people what they want, shall we?”

He gives a quick kiss to Yuuri’s cheek before entering the ice to flag down Yuri. “Yurio! Come take a quick picture of us, pleeeeease-”

“Hell no!” Yuri shouts back from his corner with Yakov. “Do I look like a goddamn Instagram influencer?!”

“Yuri! Language!”

Yuri scowls and skates over to the middle of the ice, probably so he can curse at Viktor without being overheard.

“Asshole, if you think I’m going to do even a tiny favor for you after all the bullshit you put me through at the Grand Prix final-”

“I’m asking for you to take photos, not to sacrifice your firstborn,” Viktor interrupts. “Plus, I’d never ask you to do anything on just _my_ behalf. Don’t you want your role model to be happy?”

Yuri opens his mouth to argue but shuts it reluctantly as he spies Yuuri leaning on the rink ledge, watching the two of them. “Fine. If it’s for him,” he jerks his chin at Yuuri. 

Viktor’s biting back a grin as they skate back over- Yuuri’s presence here is infectious. No one can resist his kind-hearted charms, not even the Ice Tiger of Russia.

Yuuri hands the blonde his phone and wraps his arms around Viktor’s chest, hugging him from behind. “Pose, Vitya!”

Viktor reaches behind him to wind a hand in Yuuri’s hair and winks at the camera.

“Gross,” Yuri mutters, but does his job, taking multiple pictures from different angles before shoving the phone back into Yuuri’s hands. “Do you actually rehearse today or are you going to subject me to watching you drool over this idiot all morning?”

Yuuri smiles. “I’ve got a half hour to kill, so I guess you’ll have to put up with me a bit longer.”

“Gross,” Yuri repeats, but it’s not as harsh as normal. “I’m going to _actually_ practice,” he shoots a look at Viktor, “so neither of you two imbeciles better bother me. Or tag me in your stupid Instagram post that I know you’re about to make.”

“Okay!”

**v_nikiforov** : my love’s sweeter than sugarplums 💕 @katsuki_yuuri 

photo creds to @yura_puma_tiger ☺️

 **phichit+chu:** !!!! aahhhhh so cute!!!

 **christophe_gc:** how sweet!

 **mila_babicheva:** FINALLY I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS

 **otabekaltin:** congratulations 👍

 **yura_puma_tiger:** the fuck did i tell u old man

* * *

Christmas Eve brings snow flurries and excitement to Moscow as Viktor heads to the Bolshoi Theatre in his nicest gray suit and burgundy tie, a bouquet of baby pink roses tucked in his arm. His outfit was Mila (and Yuuri)-approved, thanks to Mila showing Yuuri the subtle photos he sent her for wardrobe advice. But the flowers are a surprise- something he’s wanted to do since he saw Phichit give Yuuri some back on opening night. 

As always, his boyfriend looks like an ethereal prince onstage. Viktor sits through the ballet with a large, dorky grin on his face the whole time. If Yuri were here, he’d probably kick him, but he doesn’t care. Fuck him- he’s _so_ proud of Yuuri and no one can take that away from him (He might have teared up during the _Pas de Deux_. Just a little). 

Afterwards, he meets Yuuri and Mila after the performance in the front of the house while they’re still in costume. It’s so worth seeing the blush on Yuuri’s face when he sees the bouquet, the color on his cheeks the same as the flowers as Viktor gives his boyfriend a tight hug. 

“Photos! We all need photos together, and-no, you’re not allowed to get away this time, Yuuri-” Mila grabs Yuuri by the collar of his costume as he attempts to hide behind Viktor. “I don’t care how embarrassing you think this is. You’re dating Vitya now, you need to get used to the paparazzi.”

“And having a supportive yet overbearing best friend,” Viktor adds. Mila salutes him.

“I already have Phichit,” Yuuri points out.

“Okay, _rude_ , but I’m going to ignore that if you and Vitya get over here and look cute.” She drags them to a better-lit area of the building that’s worthy of appearing on Instagram and starts to take several hundred pictures of the two of them together, grinning like a madwoman.

“You were gorgeous, as always,” Viktor murmurs to him out of the corner of his mouth. “I’m so lucky to be yours.”

Yuuri’s eyes shine just as bright as the crystals in his hair as he looks up at him, and he kisses Viktor gently on the cheek while Mila’s still snapping photos.

Viktor makes a mental note to make sure he saves those particular ones forever.

Mila snatches an unfortunate passerby to take shots of the three of them, and they all do ridiculous poses together: Mila squatting in front of Viktor and Yuuri with her fingers in a V shape, Yuuri dipping Viktor low to the ground as if they were performing a waltz, Viktor scooping Mila into his arms while Yuuri pretends to pout next to him. It’s childish but Viktor’s never felt more happy, having his best friend and boyfriend goofing off with him as if they were still teenagers, not accomplished athletes in their mid to late twenties.

“Ready to go, love?” Viktor asks after Mila gets her phone back and bids them goodnight.

"Sure. Come on back with me, I just need to grab my bag from the dressing room and change out of this."

In the hallways backstage, there's a flurry of commotion as chattering dancers pass by him, all in mixed states of costume and street clothes as they get ready to go home for the night. There's a strong smell of hairspray, makeup remover, and sweat coming from the dressing rooms, and crushed rosin from the ends of pointe shoes is scattered across the floors.

It's oddly similar to the world of figure skating, minus the rosin. And the tension of competition between the performers.

Viktor smiles and gives a friendly wave to the dancers who come up to congratulate him on his victory at the Grand Prix as he waits outside Yuuri's dressing room. They all seem very excited to see him, a few of the younger girls giggling as Yuuri finally steps out, handing his duffel to Viktor. He’s traded his performance contacts for his glasses, and is dressed in his trademark turtleneck and joggers, roses nestled into his arm.

“Stop staring at him, it’ll feed his ego,” he hears Yuuri hiss to them, and they giggle harder as Viktor winks at them.

“Don’t encourage them, Vitya,” Yuuri mutters as they walk back down the hallway and out of the theatre. “They’ve been asking about us ever since your Instagram post yesterday.”

"Well, they’re supportive, aren’t they? You said you could handle the attention, that’s what we agreed on when we went public about us.” Viktor’s a little worried now, but Yuuri just gives a small laugh, his breath a misty cloud in the freezing cold. A few snowflakes land on his lenses, and he wipes at them impatiently.

“They’re just nosy. Ballet dancers are notorious gossips; they want to know just as many personal things about you as they do about me.”

“Such as?”

Yuuri blinks up at him slyly. “Like whether your hair is natural, or if you found the exact shade of hair dye to make it look like starlight. Their words, not mine.”

“Oh?” Viktor swings the duffel so that it nudges Yuuri in the side. “And what do you think?”

“I’m inclined to think… natural,” Yuuri smiles, reaching up to comb his fingers through the silky strands with his free arm. “Though they’re right. It is like starlight.”

Viktor’s heart swells with adoration, leaning his head into Yuuri’s palm. “Am I really that popular in the ballet world for my hair to be such an interesting topic, Yuuri?”

“You are now,” Yuuri admits. “If you ever got bored with me, there’d be ballerinas lining out the door for their turn.”

A taxi stops in front of them, and Viktor opens the door for Yuuri, helping him climb inside. “That’s bold of them,” Viktor says, sliding in next to him. “For them to assume I’d ever get bored of you, my dear Yuuri.” 

They ride back to Viktor’s apartment in silence, fumbling their fingers against one other and sharing secret smiles and flirtatious looks in the cab. Viktor’s heart is rapidly quickening with excitement, and from the looks of it, Yuuri’s just as thrilled to be on his date with him.

The feeling doesn’t go away when they arrive at the apartment, or as Viktor leads Yuuri inside. He’s well aware that tonight’s a rare treat for both of them: no rehearsals, practice, or performances to worry about over the next 24 hours, and a chance to cheat their rigorous athletic diets. He’s bought them wine and Russian honey cake, one of his personal favorites, and he can’t wait for Yuuri to try it. 

As usual, Makkachin’s awake and excited to greet whoever’s at the door when Viktor unlocks it. Yuuri gives the dog a few pats as he takes in the apartment-Viktor’s set up multicolored Christmas lights on the walls of his living room, which lead all the way down to the bedroom and wrap around his inner door frame. 

“Oh, pretty,” Yuuri says quietly. Viktor opens the bedroom door for him, and Yuuri puts his duffel down next to Viktor’s bed, glancing at the bathroom. “Do you mind if I shower quickly before we get into dessert and drinks? I still feel gross from being at the theatre all day.”

“Not at all,” Viktor waves his hand for him to go ahead. “Use anything in my shower that you want. Towels are in the cupboard under the sink.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri grins. He fires off a quick text to someone before he sets his phone down and heads into Viktor’s bathroom, the water starting almost immediately after the door closes behind him.

Viktor sighs, sitting on his bed and undoing his tie, heart still racing a mile a minute. Even now, he still can’t get over having Yuuri staying over in his apartment, let alone using his shower-

_Easy, Nikiforov. Yuuri might not be ready for anything tonight. Don’t let your imagination run away._

Still, he grabs his stash of lube and condoms and puts them in the top drawer of his nightstand for easy access. Just in case.

He goes to check on Makkachin in the living room, refilling his food and water bowls and letting him out for a quick walk outside his apartment. Once he gets back, he takes the cake out from the fridge, plating up a few slices for them.

Yuuri’s still in the shower by the time he’s done with all of that, so Viktor takes off his dress shoes and socks, and begins to unbutton his shirt. He might as well change into something comfortable, since it’s so late; it’s nearly ten-thirty.

The bathroom door opens, and a billowing cloud of steam fills Viktor’s bedroom.

“Oh, Viktor, could you hand me my-”

Viktor turns just as Yuuri steps out from his bathroom.

His raven’s hair is damp, his glasses and towel nowhere to be seen. He’s only wearing a pair of navy blue boxers that sit low on his hips, exposing the lean muscle of his chest, the defined v that disappears down the waistband, and those thick, powerful thighs Viktor’s dreamed about since he first saw Yuuri onstage.

Yuuri swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and Viktor realizes he’s taking him in as well. He’s partially undressed, his button-down shirt completely open and revealing his chest, tie hanging loosely around his neck.

They simply stand there for a moment, each taking in the other, until Yuuri comes forward.

“Can I…” he whispers, reaching out carefully.

Viktor takes his hand and pulls it to his own chest. 

Yuuri exhales when his fingers make contact with Viktor’s skin. Viktor stands still, watching Yuuri trace his way over his collarbones, then to where his heart is, pounding away furiously. Yuuri flicks his gaze up, a tiny grin on his face. “That’s funny. I think my heart’s going just as fast as yours is right now.”

He continues his exploration, nothing beyond simple, light touches on his chest and shoulders, but the anticipation is driving Viktor mad. He can feel the heat pooling in his abdomen as Yuuri stares at him with those chocolate brown eyes, filled with curiosity and lust.

“What do you want me to do, Yuuri?” Viktor’s impatience wins as he takes him by the chin and lifts his head up, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip.

Yuuri stares at him directly, not backing down. It’s unusual for him but _damn_ , Viktor can’t deny how sexy it is. 

“I want everything you’ve ever thought of doing to me, Vitya.”

 _Fuck_.

He can almost feel all the blood leaving his brain to rush south, and it takes all of Viktor’s self control to step away and head to his door, closing it shut. 

“Makkachin,” He explains to Yuuri’s confused face. “The last thing I want is an interruption. I don’t want to take my eyes off you for a single second, Katsuki Yuuri.”

Yuuri gives a low laugh as Viktor crosses the room and they collide together, all teeth and tongue as they kiss. 

Yuuri’s kisses are wild, fierce- a complete 180 from their evening in the living room a week ago. Viktor can barely keep up as they scramble to hold onto one another, his shirt and tie quickly tugged off of him and flung onto the bed.

Viktor’s hands are moving all over the place, desperate for the feel of Yuuri against his palms, and Yuuri seems to feel the same way, sliding his own hands down the curve of Viktor’s spine and squeezing his ass.

“Naughty,” Viktor scolds him. 

“Just returning the favor from the other night,” Yuuri whispers in his ear, and Viktor’s stomach does a flip. He feels Yuuri’s fingers hook into the belt loops of his pants to drag his hips closer, and he experimentally grinds forward, earning a sigh against his lips. 

“Good?” He asks.

“Yes,” Yuuri eagerly replies.

He backs Yuuri up to the wall so that it’s easier for him to slide his thigh in between Yuuri’s legs without losing their balance, and they keep moving, rutting against each other with reckless abandon as they kiss. Yuuri pulls Viktor’s hand to the front of his boxers, and Viktor groans against his mouth as he feels him, hot and fully hard, through the fabric. He gives an experimental stroke, and Yuuri’s next kiss is enough to make his lips bruise, his tongue eager against Viktor’s.

“This is… a little faster than the other night,” Viktor warns him. “Believe me, I’m more than willing, but if you’re not ready… you don’t have to push yourself for me, Yuuri.”

“I want to.” There’s a slight impatience in his tone that makes Viktor smirk with a new gleam in his eye as he sees just how desperate Yuuri is for his touch. “Just like I said, I want you to give me everything. Trust me.” 

Viktor pulls back and searches his face for any hesitation or reservations to make sure, but finds none. 

Well. What his Yuuri wants, he’ll be sure to give to him.

He gracefully sinks to his knees and Yuuri swallows, his eyes fluttering closed as he braces himself for Viktor to pull down the fabric and place his mouth on him.

“Go on,” he says, his voice steady. Giving him permission.

But Viktor’s not quite done teasing. 

He takes one of Yuuri’s legs in his hands, his fingers running up and down the skin at his calf. Bending forward, he gives a delicate, almost reverent kiss at his ankle, running his nose ever so slowly up his shin. His fingers create a path for him, his mouth following as he begins to work his way up Yuuri’s leg.

Above him, Yuuri trembles, muttering something that might be a curse under his breath in Japanese.

“You've got the most gorgeous legs," Viktor purrs, his lips brushing the soft skin as he speaks. "Did I ever tell you that?"

“Ah- I don’t think you’ve mentioned it,” Yuuri’s voice shakes a little.

“Mmm. I adore them.”

He cups the back of Yuuri’s knee as he keeps his lazy ascent up his leg, hot and wet kisses in his wake. He knows he’s dragging it out, and he’s painfully hard himself in his dress pants, but _god_ , it’s worth it to hear the noises coming from above him. Yuuri’s making tiny whines in the back of his throat, combined with the irregular hitches in his breath as Viktor’s mouth inches closer to his cock.

When Viktor reaches the sensitive flesh on his inner thigh he bites down and Yuuri gasps, his head arching up against the wall and one hand flying out to twist into Viktor’s hair, pulling tightly. Viktor does it again, biting at the thick muscle right before the junction between leg and hip, flicking his tongue onto the skin ever so slightly as he sucks on it.

“Vitya, _please_ ,” Yuuri pleads. Viktor looks up at his lover through his lashes, and feels a thrill rush through his core as he takes him in.

Yuuri’s panting above him, the hand that’s not digging into his hair braced behind him against the wall to hold himself up. He already looks like the pinnacle of debauchery, pupils dilated and lips reddened from their fierce kisses.

 _He’s so lovely_.

“May I?” Viktor asks, flicking his gaze down to the fabric-covered bulge in front of him.

“Please,” Yuuri breathes again, tugging down one side of the waistband of his boxers. An invitation.

Viktor splays his hands over his hipbones, about to pull them down when a series of raised lines across his skin catches his attention.

“Stretch marks,” Yuuri explains, tracing his fingers over one of the lines. “Used to gain and lose weight a lot before coming here to train.”

Viktor dips his head down to one of Yuuri’s hips, and starts giving slow kisses down the more prominent marks.

“Leave them,” Yuuri tries to move Viktor’s head away, squirming above him. “They’re not that pretty to look at-”

“They’re beautiful. Every part of you is beautiful, Yuuri. But if you insist, then...” 

Viktor unceremoniously yanks down his underwear the rest of the way down and takes him into his mouth, and Yuuri _keens_ above him. 

“Ah- Vitya, you’re so good-” Yuuri bucks his hips forward as Viktor grips the backs of his thighs and takes him in deeper. His fingers tighten in Viktor’s hair as Viktor licks all the way down the length of him, and he slowly begins to move back and forth, bobbing his head as he greedily sucks and kisses his cock. 

After a couple of minutes he spares another look upwards, and it’s nearly enough to make him come without touching himself. Yuuri’s staring at him, mouth parted open as he heaves and shudders above him, and he picks up his pace.

“Wait, stop-” Yuuri says urgently, and Viktor pulls off with a pop, worried he’s somehow crossed a line. “I-I was going to come in your mouth.”

“That’s the idea, Yuuri.” Viktor’s hands are still holding onto the backs of Yuuri’s legs. “Unless... you want something else?”

Yuuri nods. “I want to come with you inside me.”

Viktor grins, dark and hungry.

“Bed,” he says, rising from his kneeling position and capturing Yuuri’s lips in another deep kiss, slowly guiding the two of them backwards onto the mattress.

Yuuri settles himself in between Viktor’s legs and deftly undoes the belt on his trousers, sliding the layers of fabric down and giving his cock a few strokes. Viktor’s hips jerk upwards of their own will, seeking more after being untouched all night. “I want to ride you. If that’s okay?”

 _Yes it’s okay, it’s so fucking okay_ -

“Shit, you’re going to send me to an early death,” Viktor swears, leaning over to grab the lube and condoms from the nightstand. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I, uh- I prepped myself earlier. In the shower.” Yuuri’s suave facade breaks for a moment, cheeks flushing.

“So full of surprises tonight,” Viktor murmurs, shifting himself underneath the dancer and rolling the condom on, lube following next. The view above him is immaculate: Yuuri, still slightly out of breath from Viktor’s blowjob, stray locks of damp black hair falling into his face as he stares down at him. Just like when they kissed on the living room sofa, Yuuri’s thighs are taut, the thick muscles defined as he hovers over Viktor, lining himself up. “You’ve done this before, then?”

“Once,” Yuuri admits. “A long time ago, at a summer intensive- don’t look at me like that,” he says as Viktor gives him a coy look. “I was young and desperate, and it doesn’t mean anything to me. Not anymore.”

“That’s good,” Viktor grips Yuuri’s hips and pushes in, watching in satisfaction as Yuuri gives a heavy gasp above him. “Because you’re _mine_ , Katsuki Yuuri.”

He starts to move once Yuuri gets himself adjusted, thrusting his hips upwards as Yuuri sinks downwards, and they get into a rhythm quickly. Viktor’s more than aware of the little gasps and moans that are coming out of his mouth, but he can’t help it. The heat in his belly has built to an almost incredible limit, and he’s embarrassingly close to his peak already. Yuuri’s just that tantalizing, and it gets to almost be too much as the dancer bends down to mouth at Viktor’s ear.

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since you sent me those pictures in Barcelona,” Yuuri whispers, grinding down faster, and Viktor arches off the mattress, digs his fingers into Yuuri’s sides even harder to try and control himself from coming then and there. “You were drunk with everyone at the banquet, and your jacket was off, your tie was loose, and you had this look in your eyes- like I was there instead of the camera, like I was the only one in the room instead of your friends, and you wanted to consume me. I wanted to grab you by that tie and kiss you until you forgot your own name, and then use it to blindfold you while I felt and marked you up.”

Yuuri’s looking a bit bashful, like he can’t believe he confessed all that out loud, but Viktor’s never been harder in his life.

“ _Fuck_ , Yuuri…”

He starts to move faster, deeper, the room now filled with all sorts of lewd noises from the two of them, and it spurs him on: the mattress creaking underneath them, the soft slap of skin against skin, the panting coming from both of their lungs.

“I’ve thought about this too.” The words start to spill out of Viktor’s mouth, all his innermost thoughts and desires coming to his tongue and joining the symphony of sounds. “That video Mila sent of you doing those amazing fouettés- it drove me wild, watching you in that crop top. The last time I performed _Eros_ , I thought about nothing else except you. About fucking you into my mattress, wearing nothing but that shirt, licking my way up your body, chasing that sweat down your chest and making you writhe underneath me-”

“Vitya,” Yuuri pants, fingers tightening on Viktor’s shoulders.

“You’re intoxicating when you dance,” Viktor takes one of his hands and slides it up Yuuri’s throat, sticking his thumb into Yuuri’s mouth and watching his eyes roll backwards into his head as he takes it and sucks on it. “And even more so on top of me, taking me so well like this-”

Yuuri lets out a cry around his finger, his breaths coming out in erratic gasps. “ _Fuck_ , Vitya- I-”

“That’s it, love,” Viktor growls, taking his hand out of Yuuri’s mouth and grasping his cock instead, stroking him roughly in time with his fast-paced thrusts. “Just like that. Come for me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri buries his head into the crook of Viktor’s neck and groans, his body seizing up and then releasing tension as he spends himself on Viktor’s chest. Viktor keeps fucking into him as he comes, chasing his own release. He’s so close, with all their dirty talk, and only a few seconds later he reaches his own peak. He swears into Yuuri’s shoulder, the sound muffled against his skin, and Yuuri holds him tight as he rides through his orgasm.

Then it’s over, and they lie there in silence. Yuuri is still on top of Viktor’s chest, rising and falling as Viktor catches his breath underneath him. His mind’s gone blank, and he’s struggling to find his voice as he pulls out of him.

“Are you alright?” He asks carefully, stroking away the hair that’s fallen into Yuuri’s eyes.

“That was amazing. I don’t ever want to get up,” Yuuri confesses, and Viktor gives a throaty chuckle. 

“I’m glad we’re on the same page. But we’re going to be gross if we just stay here all night.”

After he cleans them up, Viktor tugs on a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants, forgoing a shirt. He likes the way Yuuri’s still watching him from the bed, eyes drawn to his pecs.

“Need to borrow any clothes from me?” He offers. 

“No, I’ve got everything I need in my bag. Thank you, though.”

“Alright. I’ll be back,” he kisses Yuuri’s head before giving him some privacy and padding into the kitchen. 

Makkachin’s sleeping in the living room as he goes to the fridge and downs a glass of water. He stares into the empty cup for a moment, completely giddy and out of breath. They actually did all that in there- it wasn’t a dream. Yuuri on top of him, whispering those things in his ear, making sweet, lovely noises as they brought each other to their peak-

He manages to pull himself together and grabs their cake slices from the counter, in addition to two wine glasses and a bottle of pinot. 

Yuuri’s got Viktor’s dress shirt on and the sheets bunched around his lap when he comes back to the room with their food, the fabric swimming on him in the most precious way- Viktor’s shoulders are a bit broader than his. 

“Flirt,” Viktor accuses him, setting the plates carefully onto the duvet and twisting the cork off the bottle to pour out the wine. “You could’ve just asked me to get you clothes from your bag, you know.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri takes his wine glass from Viktor with a cheeky grin. “I’m too lazy to get up, and it was right here on the bed.”

“Hmmm,” Viktor hums, flicking the main lights off and climbs into bed next to him. The room dims and they become illuminated with the gentle colors of the string lights. “It looks good on you. Here, take your cake.”

Viktor passes him the plate, and watches Yuuri’s eyes light up in delight as he takes the first bite of sweet, cream-layered cake. “You made this?”

“Hate to disappoint, but no. I got it at a local bakery, my cooking and baking skills are nonexistent.”

Yuuri looks thoughtful as he takes another bite of honey cake. “I’ll teach you, then. I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend if I let you waste all your money on takeout.”

“Mmmm. What would you make for me?”

“Anything. Japanese curry, tonkatsu, katsudon- katsudon’s my favorite,” he says happily, waving his fork around. “It’s this amazing dish with egg, and rice, and breaded pork; I can only eat it when the off-season rolls around in between productions, it’s a little heavy so I can’t eat too much of it or I’ll gain weight.”

“That’s a pity. It sounds almost as delicious as you, Yuuri.”

He tilts his head and, while making direct eye contact, trails his tongue along the corner of Yuuri’s mouth, licking a stray spot of whipped cream that’s lingered from the cake. Yuuri lets out a soft exclamation as Viktor pecks him on the lips before pulling away, satisfied.

“Oh my god, Vitya, you- you can’t just _say_ and _do_ things like that all the time,” Yuuri complains, but he’s already smiling into his plate as he finishes his slice. “And you say _I’m_ the flirt.” 

“My dear Yuuri, I’d never say something that wasn’t true,” Viktor teases him. “You’re absolutely delicious.”

“You’re insane,” Yuuri mutters, hiding his grin as he rises from the bed to take their empty plates back to the kitchen. His boxers are still lying forgotten on the other side of the room, and Viktor’s shirt only covers about half of Yuuri’s plump ass from view as he walks away.

Viktor chuckles to himself and takes a deep drink of wine. _Flirt, indeed._

“It’s midnight already,” Yuuri announces when he comes back into his room, settling next to Viktor under the covers. 

“Oh, is it? Well, I guess I should say merry Christmas, Yuuri,” Viktor raises his glass as a toast.

Yuuri clinks his glass against Viktor’s and leans into him, kissing him on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Vitya.”

He starts to hum something under his breath- the _Pas de Deux_ , Viktor soon realizes- smiling into his lap. “Can you believe all this between us started because of a ballet performance?”

“Don’t be so critical, Yuuri. _The Nutcracker_ was made during the Romantic Era of ballet, after all. It’s very symbolic.”

“You read up on your history,” Yuuri’s surprised. 

“Of course. I’m in love with a dancer who happens to be a devoted fan; I’d be a disgrace if I didn’t show you the same energy.”

“Mmm. I’m glad.”

They fall into a peaceful silence after that. Viktor doesn’t think he can get any happier tonight, with the soft glow of the twinkle lights in his room and the gentle snow falling outside the window. He’s just about to nod off with his head on Yuuri’s shoulder when he sees Yuuri’s phone light up on the nightstand next to them.

“Ah… it’s probably a Christmas text from Phichit,” Yuuri says quietly. “I’ll look later.”

He stays pressed against Viktor’s side, sipping the rest of his wine until it glows again. It stays lit for at least a minute, continuous texts flooding in.

“What the hell?” Yuuri mutters, detangling himself from Viktor, who gives a small whine at the sudden loss of warmth. 

“Yuuri, come back here…” Viktor leans over his shoulder to read his texts, and bursts out laughing.

“It’s not funny,” Yuuri says, covering his mouth with his hand. “I forgot how he can be.”

**Phichit:** Yuuri!!

 **Phichit:** YUURI!!!

 **Phichit:** YUURI YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME

 **Phichit:** YOU CAN’T TELL ME YOU’RE GOING TO GET RAILED BY VIKTOR NIKIFOROV AND THEN NOT SAY ANYTHING ELSE

 **Phichit:** YUURI PLEASE YOU’VE GOTTA TELL ME U TWO FINALLY FUCKED

 **Phichit:** i’m assuming from ur silence that either u flaked or that u r in fact getting railed rn

 **Phichit:** don’t forget protection!! 

**Phichit:** Yuuri

 **Phichit:** it’s been like 2 hours. i know u have amazing stamina but JESUS

 **Phichit:** oh shit it’s midnight over there! merry Christmas! hope that sweet ass was the best present u could’ve ever gotten

Viktor takes Yuuri’s phone from him, smirking.

“Yuuri. You made up your mind about how this date was going to go a while ago, didn’t you?”

Yuuri can’t muster the energy to look remotely ashamed. “I might have.”

“And you told Phichit before me. Tsk, tsk.”

“What?” Yuuri drains his glass and raises an eyebrow at him. “You wanted me to tell you back at the theatre that I wanted you to fuck my brains out when we got here? In front of Mila?!”

“Maybe.” 

“Oh my _god_ , Viktor.”

“Can I respond to him?”

“Go for it. It’ll probably make his night,” Yuuri laughs, handing over his phone without hesitation.

**Yuuri:** this is Viktor. i have to say, your friend is truly talented in more ways than just his dancing. stamina included ;)

 **Phichit:** !!!! AAHHHHHHHHAGJDGSKAHAKDH

 **Phichit:** i’m so sorry Mr. Nikiforov sir i was just joking

 **Phichit:** best friend duties and everything

 **Yuuri:** of course :) merry Christmas!

 **Phichit:** merry Christmas!! i won’t interrupt anymore i promise

 **Phichit:** treat him well, okay? he’s the best guy u could ever have in ur life

Viktor glances up, and sees that Yuuri’s no longer watching him text, opting for looking out the window at the snow flurries in wonder. He looks just as angelic, just as regal in his bed dressed in nothing but his shirt as he does onstage in his Cavalier costume.

**Yuuri:** don’t worry, Phichit. i’ll give him the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A family friend from Russia brought my family her honey cake over the holidays for us, so I had to put it in  
> Thanks again for joining me for this ride! I had a wonderful time writing it, and I hope y’all enjoyed it!
> 
> The Romantic Era of ballet started in the early 1800s with the ballet La Sylphide, and continued throughout the century with other compositions such as Giselle and Coppelia. Though some people say this era ended in the 1870s, The Nutcracker is still considered a romantic ballet, as the music was influenced heavily by the time period.

**Author's Note:**

> Principal: highest rank of dancer in a company  
> Leading soloist: second highest rank  
> Arabesque: standing on one straight leg while the other is extended backwards horizontally


End file.
